


Adam

by sku7314977



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Amnesia, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, But it's for development of the plot, Dark Love, Dark Will, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Manipulation, Mild dubious consent for the second half of chapter 9, Murder Husbands, Murder love, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Nudity, Porn, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Hannibal, Rimming, Second half of 9 can be skipped if that is a problem for some, Smut, Uhh...some graphic death and murder, Will/Alana mentioned in chapter 07 for plot purposes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sku7314977/pseuds/sku7314977
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is taken by surprise when he finds a man wandering the streets late at night naked and covered in blood. He decides to take the stranger home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Adam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Everett_Harte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everett_Harte/gifts).



> It came to mind, I wrote it. For now its a one shot. I might add more if the demand is there for it. 
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Not Beta Read

Hannibal, though never cruel to the homeless and needy who lined the streets of lesser areas, was never one to go out of his way to assist those who were found wanting on corners or in shelters of cardboard lined with newsprint, the socialite much preferring to keep to the cleaner streets of Baltimore’s elite unless otherwise hunting.

But then again he’d never seen a man strolling with causality on the road side after midnight dressed in nothing but moonlight and blood.

The closer his Bentley drew the more his skin appeared as though it had been carved from alabaster marble streaked with crimson. He walked with slow meaningful steps despite his nudity and the bare nature of his feet, the road side gravel no doubt digging into his skin as he sauntered on into the night toward his unseen destination.

He either didn’t notice or didn’t care that a car had passed him, the nudist having no interest in the prospect of hitchhiking as he continued forward soaked from head to toe with rust colored rubies. It was possibly the most interesting thing Hannibal had seen all week, enough so to have the Bentley slow to a stop on the curb side and the killer exit his car to greet the beautiful man.

“Good evening,” Hannibal greeted, remaining still as the anomaly approached. It was like watching the descent of an angel of death. To have called him beautiful would have done little more than insult to the being that approached him in slow steady strides. He donned moonlight and blood like a veil of sheer silk to cover his body of tight whipcord muscle and too prominent ribs, his skin smooth and unblemished save for the twist of a scar on his shoulder and trail of dark hair the led from navel to plentiful cock.

“Excuse me,” His steps didn’t falter as he passed Hannibal, barely casting a look with eyes the shade of storm ocean skies.

He would not be so easily deterred from the siren who called to him with skin and mystery, “You seem lost.” He offered, turning to watch the sway of rounded hips and well-formed butt.

“No I don’t,” Was returned, the man continuing without hesitation as he walked further down the street side, “I seem insane, as do you for stopping to ask a naked man covered in blood if he’s lost.”

“Perhaps I only wish to be helpful, god forbid we be friendly.” The barest pull of a smile tugged thin lips and he followed, the sound of gravel moving underfoot in greeting of the strangers new company.

His angel scoffed, keeping pace despite the raw flesh visible on his abused feet. “I don’t find you that interesting.”

“You will.” The promise finally brought his steps to a halt, Hannibal catching up to stand by the interesting man as he at last turned to face Hannibal with eyes that refused to rise higher than the Windsor knot of his paisley tie. “You’re a psychopath,” he said with full lips Hannibal very much wished to kiss and render the skin on, feel the warmth of flesh against his teeth and blood across his tongue as he made the man before him moan his name, “I have no reason to trust you not to kill me.”

“A psychopath?” This man was both beautiful and intelligent. It made him want to preen like a peacock for its mate, “what makes you so sure?”

He didn’t roll his eyes but the look offered was enough to let Hannibal know that such things were being implied. “It’s the middle of the night,” He stated the obvious, “I’m walking the highway naked and covered in blood. Only two kinds of people pursue a man like that. Either you’re a cop or a killer and a cop wouldn’t be flirting with me.” Hannibal felt his heart jump as so little became so much, “You’re interested. You’re a psychopath.”

“You are wondering the streets alone and covered in blood. Perhaps I’m a concerned citizen.” He countered, enjoying the way moonlight lit up the wisps of curls like a halo around him. He would have preferred him without the scruff of beard over a face that would look much younger without it, but such things were easily fixed.

He barked a laugh, hallow and mocking. “No, you’re hunting. But you don’t see me as pray.” Hannibal did not deny him, though no affirmation was offered either, only the silent tilt in curiousness for the man to continue. He sighed, but did as silently bidden, “You’re suit, your car, your micro expressions. The gloves to cover finger prints, the silent way you walk on feet and hold yourself as though to exude power. You’re a monster pretending to be human and hiding behind a suit fashioned of smiles and lies and I can see it as clearly as I see the stars skirting behind the clouds in their own disguise.”

He wanted to applaud him, kiss him and render the flesh of his flawless body to mark him for his own so that no other would ever confuse to whom this clever man belonged.

“You see all this with one look?” He pressed when he longed to hold.

“Yes.” His eyes were skirting from the tailored vest and jacket of his three piece suit to the cashmere scarf that hung loose around his neck and heavy wool coat that protected him against the late autumn air.

“What a beautiful gift.” He whispered to earn a look of deep confusion from the man before him, as though such a thing should be seen as anything but. He would help him to understand the beauty of what he had. “May I ask as to why are you wondering the streets bloody and without clothes?”

Blue grey eyes made it as far as his mouth before stopping, focusing on his lips with an air of loss about him. It answered more questions for Hannibal than the boy need know. “I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember your name?” He pressed, slipping the heavy wool coat from his shoulders to drape around the quieting man now that more truths were coming to light.

He watched the movement like a stray, untrusting of the warmth he was being wrapped in. He hadn’t even realized he was cold until the touch of burning warmth was pressed against his skin. “No.” He answered at last, eyes dropping as he searched inside himself for something to come up short, “I woke up this way.” He was an enigma, one Hannibal desperately wished to uncover and reveal.

“Naked and covered in blood?” He coaxed, not yet leading the man back to his car. The care of a stray animal was tricky business, an establishment of trust needed before they would follow their future keeper home.

“Naked.” He amended, shuffling with some discomfort at the memory.

He felt his stomach do a flip, the rise of excitement twisting his gut as something else interesting began reveal before him in this boy, “And the blood?” Storm wracked oceans met blood stained earth and a thrill gripped him as he saw the crouching beast of a killer within. “Who did you kill?” he whispered.

“Are their names for swine?” He asked and Hannibal knew. If it was said that God created a match for everyone than this man had been specially crafted for him, standing more beautiful than the Mona Lisa he was a wonderment onto himself, a being meant to be revered.

“No,” grey eyes slid away and he knew as much as Hannibal that he had found his match. “Come, you must be hungry. Allow me to cook for you.” A gentle hand caressed his shoulder, the slow encouragement of trust.

A skeptical look was given to his hand in a side glance before those eyes returned to his throat. “You have nowhere else to go. Allow me to give you some place to stay while you learn who you are.” A breath of wind carrying with it the autumn chill seemed to be the last encouragement needed, the man turning to begin the walk back to the car with Hannibal’s hand set firmly to the small of his back in guidance.

OoOoO

“Do you have people over who aren’t psychopaths?” The nudist asked as he was led through the extravagant Baltimore home and into one of the guest bathrooms on the second floor. Though he had nothing to memory to compare the lavish room against he still knew it was impressive. Marble of blue streaked with silver made up the counter and floor, a bath large enough to easily accommodate two full grown men taking the vast majority the room.

“Yes,” Hannibal answered with a hint of amusement, glancing back over his shoulder as he ran a bath for the younger male, “I’m quite sociable. I had the administrator of the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane over for dinner just last night.” Adjusting the water to something just shy of scalding he motioned for his new house guest to climb into the tub.

Stepping forward he shed the coat like a chrysalis to pool at his feet, allowing Hannibal to witness all that he was before climbing into a bath tinted green with salts and scented of aloe and cedar. “And they haven’t arrested you? They must be blind.” His words were caught between a hiss and groan, the heat too much and exactly what he needed. Burning his flesh as it relaxed muscles wound tight from too many hours walking in the cold and whatever else he might have been doing before.

Rolling his sleeves Hannibal took a seat on the wide side of the tub, soaping a cloth to begin scrubbing blood stained skin clean with a firm hand. The man leaned into him, rolling his shoulders to loosen knots as his flesh was seen to. “They see the world of smoke and mirrors that I have created for them,” he soaked the cloth in fresh bath water, watching a cloud of rust bleed into the pale green liquid of the tub. “You are the first to see through me.”

“It takes one to know one I guess.” He ducked his head as a hand reached round to scrub his chest, lifting away evidence to be rinsed away without a trace.

Taking the angels beautiful face into his hands he turned him so their eyes might meet, the elusive things seeking out his mouth and ear in avoidance of the deep maroon that sought them. “Tell me how you killed them.” It was almost a plea, a polite request that Hannibal needed fulfilled much as he needed air to breath and water to drink.

“I stabbed him.” He said simply, explaining the arterial spray that had covered his front, the drops of crimson he was gently working from his face, “In the throat. He was coming toward me with gasoline and matches. I was lying in a shallow ditch. Found a piece of broken glass and when he got close pushed it through his throat.” It would have been enough for self defense, but there was more. “He was still breathing when I started flaying the skin from his back, propping him up to kneel like an angle with wings of flesh stretched and held with brackets I fashioned from sticks.” It had been crude, unfinished without the proper tools to display the man who had been left to burn. He’d needed fishing wire to create an angel, but didn’t have any. “I tied his hands with strips of cloth from his shirt and supported his body with rocks.” He blinked remembering the blaze as evil was punished. “I soaked him in the gasoline meant for me, left him to burn in the hell fire.” He didn’t scream, couldn’t. Whether it was his death that had silenced him or the hole in his throat had made no difference. He had watched the inferno with a sense of serine justice and left when the smell became too much for his stomach.

“Beautiful,” he leaned in to capture full lips with his own in a kiss between killers, the nameless man tensing in surprise as his mouth was parted with a coaxing tongue to plunge inside and map the depths within.

His angel moaned, closing his eyes to lean into the kiss and slip soaking arms around his shoulders, pulling him flush to the nameless man as tongues searched and teeth nipped. He slipped his fingers into curls made stiff by dried blood, his angel hissing to pull back as Hannibal found the source of his memory loss.

“You’ve suffered a blow to the head.” Brow furrowed grey eyes focused on the water to once again search for things he could not yet find, a memory of ‘how’ and ‘when’ he would not know the answer to for some time. “I’d like to examine it when we’re done to make sure it’s clean.”

Fingers searched blood gritted curls to gingerly touch the split mound of flesh on the back of his skull. It was tender, making him wince as he touched the matted hair there. “Sure.” He grabbed the abandoned cloth focusing on removing the remaining blood that clung to his skin as broad hands began to loosen the same from his hair, softening curls to separate and examine the split.

“You’re most likely suffering from retrograde amnesia.” Hannibal explained, “Unless there is a psychological suppression aiding the trauma you should have your memories recovered in a few hours.” He pulled the drain gathering one of his softer towels paired in a dark blue to match the room for the man to dry himself. “If you’ll allow me a moment, I should have something you can wear.”

Standing at nearly the same height as Hannibal, though his build was considerably leaner than his own, there would be little trouble in his angel sharing his wardrobe until he had time to take him shopping and to the tailors or his memories returned.

“I found a pair of pajamas that should fit you well enough.” He smiled upon entering the bathroom to find the man examining himself in the mirror, towel left forgotten on the floor much as the coat had been.

He was staring down a stranger, trying desperately to read something within a set of eyes that were both his own and not. “I don’t know this man,” He said at last, speaking to Hannibal as he stared at himself. “I feel like a mosaic, like I have a hundred thousand people crawling around inside my head, each one making up a piece of me until they form my face and eyes and teeth.” He touched the scruff of his jaw, thumb running along the bone in a slow draw. “You don’t like my beard.” He said without hesitation, as though Hannibal had announced as much earlier aloud and no within the confines of his mind. “You think it takes away from my appearance. You want me to shave it and in turn I see what you want, feel it as though those thoughts are my own and it makes me want to shave it. But I don’t know if I want to shave it or if I only want to shave it because you want me to shave it.” He let his hand fall away, furrowing his brow at the stranger who stared back at him. “I don’t know if I like having have a beard or not.”

“You have an empathy disorder.” Hannibal observed, coming behind him to set the clothing on the counter as he looked over his shoulder to watch blue grey eyes that focused on only their own. “It could be exacerbating the memory loss.” It could be used to influence him.

“I don’t know myself and I can’t remember who I am. I’m not going to remember if I keep losing myself to other people.” He was frustrated, understandably so. The loss of one’s self was a terrible fate, he only hoped that meant he could keep this stranger long enough to endear himself to him before his memories return.

He ran his hands from shoulder to elbow, feeling the smooth skin beneath his palm with thoughts to its dryness. Whoever this man had been in his previous life he had failed to care for himself. Hannibal would not allow such failure to continue while under his care. “Then perhaps you should build yourself something new until the time your memories resurface.” He leaned closer, coming to whisper like a serpent in his ear, “pick a name for yourself and you will have taken the reins, rebuild yourself, your likes and opinions, and you will control the chaos.”

“If you can’t go back move forward,” he summarized, as hands move to settle on the swell of his hips to feel too prominent bones.

“Yes,” Was whispered with the brush of lips to stubble, a possessive hand curling around the angels waist to slid a palm across the plain of stomach. “What is your name?”

Several long moments passed as he stared into the mirror, losing himself in depths of blue as he searched his mind for a name that came without chaos. If he was lucky, he may even pick his own. A hand several shades lighter than the one pressed to his waist came to settle over his hosts and he leaned back into the solid form behind him. “Adam.” He decided.

“Adam,” it made him smile. The barest pull of lips against his angels skin. “Of course, if you cannot remember your beginning, return to the worlds. It’s beautiful.” It was perfect for his angel of death.

“It’ll do.” He conceded turning to meet lips with his own.

“You must be hungry Adam. Shall I prepare something light for you before bed?” He allowed the man to turn within his arms, facing him as he had in the tub to loop arms around his shoulders and met him in a kiss.

“I’d rather see your kill room.”


	2. Kill Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They check out Hannibal's murder room and things get kinky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who asked for second helpings of Adam?
> 
> This story is supply on demand because it’s not one of the outlined series I already have on the go. 
> 
> So If you want more ask for it or it’s not going to happen. You’ve been warned. 
> 
> I don’t own Hannibal.
> 
> Not. Beta. Read.

Dressed in satin pajamas that slid like cool water over his skin Adam followed Hannibal into the basement.

It was inspiring.

Meat hooks, cages, fridges, slabs, saws, stainless steel and enough medical equipment to make a hospital jealous created the kill room that was Hannibal’s basement. It was beautiful in its complexity, drawing Adam in like a moth to the flame. “You’ve used everything in here.” He said as he walked the cold floor in bandaged feet. The thick gauze protecting his soles though not his toes from the chill as he moved from one instrument of death to the next, falling into visions of blood and flesh and Hannibal.

He could tell with one sweeping look that Hannibal used his equipment regularly and cleaned it scrupulously. A forensic team would be hard pressed to find any amounts of DNA lingering on the doctor’s equipment with the smell of bleach lingering in the air and gleam of spotless metal.

It reinforced his earlier suspicions, he was a doctor. His medical knowledge having already made itself known to Adam though the care of his feet and head, the provided evidence of scalpels and IV drips reaffirming this as he touched a hook over head to make it swing.

“Of course,” Hannibal smiled, watching as his angel moved through his fortress of death with an air of wonderment. Touch lingering over hooks and knives he could already see Adam’s mind turning over the methods for each tool and their practicality.

“And you eat them.” It was said almost curiously as he ran his finger along a saws edge, looking into a sink with a garbage disposal switch at its side. “Are you looking forward to watching me cannibalize?” He asked without looking, eyes following a ceiling runner to the convenient floor drain and further still to the steel door of a walk in freezer.

Hannibal watched him explore, allowing him the freedom to touch and see with both hands and eyes as he absorbed the meaning behind each piece of equipment and saw the death of a sounder. “Does that upset you Adam?”

He opened the freezer, examining the standing form of a beautiful woman waiting to be made into art. “No.”

“Do you believe that is your opinion or a reflection of my own?” He took the freezer door in hand to slide the steel mass shut, bringing the attention of blue grey eyes to settle on his lips.

“You’re a predator,” he answered simply, “as a predator you feed on the flesh of lesser beings. Why would I take offense? Your offer to share your kill with me places me higher on the food chain, you see me as an equal.” He was preening for Adam like a peacock dancing for its mate.

Adam wanted to join in that dance, “You should feed me doctor,” he said leaning closer to bringing the strong form of a body firmer than it appeared against his own to let the ghost of lips dance across the cannibals, “and then you should tell me how you did it.”

He pushed his back against the freezer and kissed him hard enough to bruise, gripping the younger man by the globes of his ass to lift him up and encourage lithe legs to encompass his tapered waist, crushing Adam between body and door.

They were killers, alphas and predators. Monsters hiding in plain sight among the sheep they hunted. Disguised in their prey to blend into the crowd with fake smiles of needle point teeth to fool the masses and lure their next victim to their death.

Adam moaned, arching as a mouth took to his throat to mark the flesh there in a chain of amethyst and onyx. He had a skin hunger, Adam realized as he carded slender fingers through hair the color of silver streaked wheat, he wanted to feel skin against his own in a nearly desperate way. “You’re lonely aren’t you?” He whispered, breath catching as he felt the swell of a cock grind against his ass.

“I was,” he corrected, stealing his breath with another kiss to swallow moans as their grinding hips dragged a cry from him. “But I do not believe I will be lonely for much longer Adam. Do you?”

“I don’t know if I’m lonely. Only that I’m alone, was alone.” A twisted smile of shadow and death drew his lips and he licked his way into Hannibal’s mouth. “I’m not alone anymore.”

He would have taken him there against the steel door of the freezer despite its crass carnality if not for the absence of lubricant. He would not hurt this creature in their love making, in their joining of one flesh and one mind. “Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

“Aren’t you the proper monster?” He teased, rubbing himself against the erection that pressed into him. “There’s a bed here. I want you to fuck me on that one.” He wasn’t done looking at the room.

Adam was temptation incarnate, the embodiment of the serpent who had tempted Eve with the Apple of Eden. He followed the line of his gaze to a dissection table, a large stainless steel slab on wheels with six point restraints for the livestock he brought home. It made his cock jump to see the salacious look in stormy eyes.

“Don’t be rude, Adam.” He warned pulling the body tighter to his own as he walked them to the pointed table. “That’s how I fill my fridges.”

“With the rude?” he barked a laugh, catching the shell of his ear between teeth to pinch. This man he’d wrapped himself around was power and control in all the darkest ways that made his blood a living thing within his veins. He wanted to see that power render flesh and ruin that consuming control with the contours of his body beneath broad blood stained hands. “You’ll never go hungry.”

The table was cold against his ass as Hannibal sat him on it, the feel of steel like ice to his skin through the fabric of borrowed satin. He arched his neck revealing throat as fingers fell down the front of his shirt to open buttons and present freshly cleaned flesh begging to be ruined. “Nor will you.”

His smile was the pull of deep satisfaction edged with blood and discord. “I like that thought.” Adam said pushing away layers of brushed wool and fine silk. It was another piece of the killers camouflage he realized, an armor he wore atop his finely crafted person suit to conceal the dense muscle and long quick limbs used for relinquishing life.

This was a clever monster he was about to join himself with was a ruler of chaos, standing head and shoulders above the rest of their kind to remain unequaled by his peers. Fingers made calloused by a life forgotten followed the hard swell of a firm shoulder to the powerful bicep he gripped to pull the slightly larger man onto the table with him.

He complied to the silent demand, climbing onto the narrow surface to crawl over his Adam, “You’re beautiful,” thin lips whispered as stormy eyes unfocused to recreate the murder of men and woman strapped where they lay. Screaming their pleas until tongues were cut free and organs were harvested from their living flesh.

It made him shiver. “Beautiful?” Adam propped himself on elbows to look down the length of his too skinny body through unkept curls of drying chocolate. “I don’t see beauty,” he smirked, “I see a stray.” He touched a too prominent rib and wondered why it was he allowed himself to become so thin. “Starved and lost.” His hand was taken by another, brought to a face older than his own though he wouldn’t know by how many years until he remembered.

“You are not lost anymore Adam. You are creating a new life for yourself while you await the return of your old one, a vacation from your past.” Lips spoke into the flesh of his palm and down his wrist. “But if you are a stray than I am your keeper. If you are hungry than I shall feed you,” A tongue darted out to taste his pulse point and make storms dilate, “If you are cold then I will clothe you, warm you.” He covered Adan’s slighter body with his own, making their flesh seamlessly on the table.

Ashen hair tickled his skin as the cannibal nuzzled his palm. “I will protect you if you cannot protect yourself.”

“I don’t need protection,” It was said with all the grace of a killer, an unknown equal, “but I will ward off the loneliness that haunts you.” Their lips met in chaste presses as their bodies entertained, the flesh of their swelling erections pressing together to draw moans from each with grinding hips.

“I would like to see you hunt Adam.” He requested, pulling back to kiss his way down the younger man’s chest. He wanted to witness his glory as Adam delivered brutality upon those undeserving of life.

“You show me yours I’ll show you mine.” He answered between hitching breaths as a nipple was captured to suck and nip. “Quid pro quo.” He bit his lip when that mouth continued south, biting a path over the curve of his hip to kiss his at the base of his cock.

It had his fingers knotting in hair. “A most agreeable suggestion,” he murmured against the base of his stomach as hands parted legs to drape over broad shoulders and hands parted the mounds of his ass. Adam fought not to twist within his new lovers grasp when a tongue pressed against his hole, the slick muscle pushing into him.

“Hannibal,” His angel moaned in a plea as he teased the entrance of his body. It made him wonder of the boy’s life before. The lovers he may have shared himself with and what, if any, of them had been male.

It was a fruitless thought as a gift was already set before him. Whoever this man had been before was meaningless. He was Adam now and he was as new to the world as a babe, born into the night naked and bloody as beings were in their beginning.

For Adam Hannibal would be his first.

It fueled his hunger with a fire to possess as he thought of such a gift bestowed unto him. It would be no small token to take this from his Adam and it was one he wished to have cherished between them.

Licking his lips he turned smoldering eyes to the flushed face panting man beneath him, a heat of passion spreading across his cheeks and down his chest. It was almost as beautiful as the moonlight and blood. “How much do you remember of your old self Adam?” He leaned forward folding him in half as he opened a drawer on the table side to produce a jaw of medical lubricant.

“Nothing,” He shifted against the position, his hips unused to the fold he was being held in as fingers were slicked and touched to his opening, “I don’t know if I’ve done this before.” He answered with a sense of knowing. The empathy Hannibal had showing itself with an uncanny understanding, “But whether I have or haven’t this is a first for Adam.” He knew the ins and outs of sex enough to suggest he’d partaken of it, but that was it. How much? How often? They fell under the same unknowns as the rest of his life. For all he knew he was a five star stripper from Las Vegas.

He knew Hannibal would be aiming for the prostate and that with his medical knowledge he would bring Adam to his end with a thrashing scream if he so desired. The man would be as precise and meticulous with helping Adam to his edge and pushing him over as he was with the methodical nature of his killings.

“You will give this to me?” It would mean so much more if Adam saw the gift in the same light as Hannibal.

“I will if you get on with it.” The position wasn’t the most comfortable and he wanted to have sex, not talk about it.

The barest pull of smile was his only warning before he was breached, surprising a gasp from his mouthy Adam. Watching his face Hannibal pushed all the way to the knuckle and hooked, catching the prostate to make his body jolt beneath him. He wore pleasure so beautifully.

Adam would have praised God if he knew what deity to believe in. Instead he praised the man above him. “Hannibal!” He wanted to arch off the platform and twist with the pleasure coursing through him like an electric shock. He was desperate to rake fingers over flesh and thrash against the body above him, but with his legs hooked over shoulder and his body folded with the weight of his lover against him. He couldn’t move; only quiver and jerk when the thrust of a finger within him, making his body sing like a well-tuned instrument.

“I warned you about being rude.” He kissed the gasping mouth as he added another digit, stretching him with a scissor to open the tight ring of muscle within as he pushed against the ball of nerves that made his body twist.

“Rewarding for bad behaviour isn’t the best kind of training Hannibal.” He taunted tracing his lip with the tip of a tongue before catching it between teeth as he craned to reveal throat and tempt his tormentor. A third and fourth were added forcing him open as stormy eyes focused on the varying saws and drills that lined one wall.

He could already see it as though he were there. The body of a squealing pig strapped to the table he was being fucked against, tears streaking their face in fear and terror as he stood above them to open their chest with scrapple and saw, breaking the ribs and making them watch as he extracted their lungs to cut free. Holding the fluffy organ in hand as their terror consumed them.

It would only take one slice to sever the flow of air and watch them suffocate. He could even hold their shuttering heart to feel its end, lose himself in their eyes to drink their fear like wine while awaiting deaths cold grasp together.

He came back reeling, his body jerking with every thrust that pushed into him to stroke the cluster of nerves sending him toward his peek. “You’re mistaking punishment for reward,” Were spoken against his gasping mouth.

He wondered what it was Adam had seen within his mind to make his heart race, he desperately wished to join him in that bone cage to see what wonders roamed within. Driving into him again and gripped him at his base just as lips fell open and eyes blew wide, the burst of a nebula blinding his vision as he climaxed, coming without a single touch to his weeping cock.

Pupils rimmed with the barest line of blue searched maroon as his end was denied, the hold too tight to allow his release even as fingers continued to stroke against his core. “You’re cruel Hannibal.” He gasped as thin lips found his own in a gentle kiss, contrasting beautifully against his painful denial.

“I am,” He released him as he backed away from the edge that had almost taken him, easing Adam into a more comfortable position with legs settled around his waist. With a sweep of lube over his swollen cock Hannibal leaned over his bringer of death and pushed inside with one smooth motion. “But I will not be cruel to you.”

Adam felt every inch of the heavy cock fill him. It was larger than the fingers that had stretched him before, leaving him feeling too full as he tried to relax around the sudden girth.

“You are the angel of death who has found himself lost on this earth.” He kissed him, shifting his hips to draw himself to the tip before pushing back in with the same slow motion. “But you will not be lost for much longer, we will carve a place for you in this world.” He watched Adam take him, the shuttering pleasure that coursed through him with every languid pump of his cock into the yielding flesh.

Adam wore emotion like a second skin, his eyes alight with desire and passion as he locked his ankles at the small of his back to urge him deeper, faster.

“You’re very poetic,” Adam kissed into his jaw, catching the skin of his throat between teeth to suck his own mark into flesh. He was beautiful in all the ways a creature of carnage and death could be. His body a cage of possession and power wrapped around Adam as they made love in the room of a hundred deaths. Adam watched the every one of them from his back, gripping their killer to adore his flesh with bruising kisses to match the chain of onyx made across his own.

They would be equals in the kingdom of their chaos, wearing crowns of bone and shrouds of blood. Gasping as another thrust flooded him with pleasure he wondered if he had always been so twisted or if something had broken him long ago to make him this way. He wondered if there were wanted posts for him with a reward printed under an unflattering mug shot or if he was as invisible to the flock as Hannibal.

“Your mind wonders Adam,” Hannibal accused accurately, flagging thrusts the only sign of how close he sat to his end. “Tell me what it is you see.”

“I see a kingdom of blood,” he gasped between thrusts, his body shaking as he was brought closer to peek once more, “and it’s ruler above me.” It was the flesh he caught between his teeth that kept him quiet as he came, body tense as his pleasure made a mess between them.

Adam was unsure whether his end urged Hannibal’s or if the man had been waiting for Adam to finish before taking his own, but the feel of liquid heat filling him as his lover stilled above with a sign of release a few moments later singled his end.

He fell back on the slab with a sigh, fucked out and satisfied enough to sleep on the stainless steel he lay upon. He closed his eyes to let as much be known.

“You need to be cleaned again.” He observed, running the pad of his thumb along the curve of a stubbled cheek.

Adam turned to catch that thumb between his teeth, the barest slit of eyes made sky blue from lust peeking back at him. “I’ll shower in the morning.” He closed them again, laying back.

“At least let us take this to an actual bed.” He encouraged, easing free his flaccid cock to slip from the table.

“You don’t like the bed I picked?” Adam sighed but got up to follow, the promise of a proper mattress winning out over his laziness. His feet still hurt from walking on gravel for hours, but it wasn’t enough to have him asking for a hand getting up the stairs.

“You are certainly welcome to sleep in the basement if you’d like. But you may find it lacking.” Hannibal answered as he gathered their discarded clothes. He would hang them for dry cleaning once Adam was settled.

“Like blanks? Or you?” He followed the killer earning a quick look as they ascended the stairs.

“Both.”

OoOoO

The bedroom was just as elaborate as the rest of the house, decorated in bold masculine colors with two walk in closets and an ensuite that put the downstairs washroom to shame. He’d barely taken notice of the number of doors except that he’d needed to find a bathroom to take a piss or not even that small detail would have been registered. He was tired from whatever his day had consisted of and the bed donned in silk sheets the shade of sapphires was too tempting for Adam to turn from in favor of exploring room or house. Those would wait until morning.

Dropping on to a bed softer than clouds he stretched sore muscles until his joints groaned in protest, relaxing into the soft bedding to let his eyes fall shut as he waited for Hannibal to join him.

Adam realized that at some point he must have dozed because he woke up to the feeling of still damn skin between his thighs and over stomach with the warmth of blankets draped over him and the weight of another at his side.

Rolling over he found Hannibal reading from an iPad, his ashen hair sticking damp to skin from his shower. “Would you rather I slept in a guest room?” Adam asked despite having about as much interest in moving as a sloth.

Thin lips pulled into a smile as sanguine eyes slid from the iPad to Adam. “I would rather you share my bed.” He took his chin in the curl of a finger and met him in a kiss. “But if you would rather take the night to yourself it will only take a moment to ready a guest room for you.”

Adam didn’t answer, at least not in words. Instead he curled himself into Hannibal’s side, resting his head on the broader man’s chest as he slipped back to sleep.

He watched Adam as his breathing slowed, dark lashes creating crescent moons against his cheeks as he slept. “If there is a God then he must have truly love me.” He said unto deaf ears.

There was no other explanation for the good fortune of the angel curled against him. Combing fingers through feathery curls he returned to his reading, finding his place in the Tattle Crime article outlining the sudden disappearance of FBI Special Agent William Graham, the profiler currently pursuing several ongoing high profile criminals, including the Chesapeake Ripper.

He smiled fondly at the picture of a quiet man hiding behind thick rimmed glasses he didn’t need and ill fitted clothing. His darling Adam.

Wasn’t that interesting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are playing bone saws, your comments are cuddled in Hannibal's bed.


	3. Will Graham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have breakfast and Jack comes for a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look what you’ve done to me! This was meant to be a one shot and now I’ve got half a damn novel planned for it! I hope you’re all happy with yourselves!!
> 
> Honestly though, thanks to everyone who’s been reading, kudoing and leaving comments. For whatever reason this story seems to have gotten a lot of attention, so if you want it I will write it. C:
> 
> Also it should be noted that as this was planned to be a one shot I did have to go back to chapter 01 and change one line in order to turn this into a longer story. Whoever picks up on it gets a porn cookie.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Not Beta Read.

Despite the heavy drapes that hung across the window when the sun rose to spill light over the horizon and chase away the last of night with hues of red and gold, a beam of light still found its way into the killers darkened room, creeping in through a crack in those curtains. The light crawled between drapes of heavy velvet and climb over the windowsill down onto the floor. It moved with a slow almost hesitant nature, ebbing in to chase away more of the shadows as he found the skirt tales of satin to scale bedding the color of oceans untraveled and crawled further up. It traveled over bodies curled together in sleep before the ray of light settling upon the face of a man who should never have been there.

It was the shift of a body that woke him, the unusual presence of another in his bed that roused the killer from his dreamless sleep. Hannibal opened his eyes with the ready awareness of a predator honed for survival, the unique shade of maroon nearly the color of blood settling upon the source of the movement at once. The man curled into his side.

Either Adam or William had rolled away from the light, the shift of a body unfamiliar against his own rousing him for an attack against an intruder.

Instead he was greeted with the sight of parted lips made soft by sleep and the ghost of breath against his face. His angel was still sleeping, his dark lashes curling against his cleeks like ebony moons against a cream colored sky. The ringlets of his hair a halo in the morning light, their stray wisps catching light to gather and hold it in a ring of gold.

He wondered what he’d done to earn such a beautiful man in his bed. He wondered what he would have to do to keep him there, who he would have to kill.

Or break.

With one arm curled beneath his pillow the other sought the too thin waist of the man at his side, a match created for him by God himself. It would take God to take him away.

Hannibal wished to see more of the monster Will Graham kept hidden within, the predator he locked away in the shadows of his mind to watch with thoughts of warm blood and cold murder. He wanted to witness the beauty of his darling Adam’s skills in the darkness of their art.

But that would all depend on who woke by his side. The skilled profiler he would be forced to strangle and devour or the chaotic Adam he desired to take again in a murder room slicked with blood.

He felt another shift of the body against him and watched as tired eyes nearly the shade of sea skies in the bright morning light blinked awake to greet him with a lazy smile. “Morning doctor,” He leaned forward to capture thin lips with his own, wrapping his arms around shoulders to draw the broader man close. “Were you watching me?”

“Hard not to,” He felt the pull of a smile as he rolled to pull Adam on top.

“What is this between us?” Adam smiled back, pressing himself into the body of hardened muscle beneath him, his morning wood present against the man’s stomach.

Broad hands ran from ribs to hip, pulling the lost man farther up his stomach to sit, “Is there a label you would prefer?” he reached into his bedside table to produce a small bottle of scented oil, its contents half empty for Adam to deduce its purpose in the bedroom and experienced use.

He spread his legs a little wider and stretched, drawing his body into an alluring line for the predator beneath him as hands slicked with liquid smelling of jasmine and cedar parted the globes of his ass to touch his entrance and slip inside. His muscles were still loose from their activities only a few hours before but he bit his lip at the intrusion and fullness all the same. “I don’t think there is a label for what we have, this relationship seems to be a design all our own.” His smile was lazy as he felt the digits enter him and he rocked his hips to urge them on. “But we can call ourselves ‘boyfriends’ if you’d like.”

“Labels create restrictions, at times it is best to work without them.” He pressed a third into his Adam and watched as the lithe body arched back, hands splayed over the plains of his stomach as he rode the fingers that stretched him within. There was so much confidence in the slim agile body on top him, something that had been missing from the photo’s he’d been looking at the night before.

It made him want to learn more about the man named William crouching within his Adam and waiting to get out. He would have to look into him before he woke up, see exactly what it was that left him so insecure in his surroundings.

See if he was something he could break to bring his Adam back once he awoke.

Perhaps the inverted nature he had witnessed in William through the shots was caused by a sense of shame for Adam, a self-loathing or denial toward his desire to kill and the enjoyment he felt from it.

“I’m sorry,” Adam taunted, reaching behind to remove fingers from himself and instead guide a swollen cock into his body, “is this a bad time for you?”

“I promise I’m not distracted,” The words came out in a groan as he was eased into a body tighter than he’d expected. “All my thoughts remain on you.”

He smiled, biting his lip as he began a languid rocking of his hips, taking Hannibal to the hilt with encouraging hands on his waist as he rose to Hannibal’s tip before plunging to its base. “Suppose I have no room to talk.” His laugh was mixed with panted gasps, his body tensing as he skewered himself onto Hannibal’s thick cock to feel the press of swollen head against his prostate.

He pressed back, pushing into Adam to make his beautiful mouth fall open and body arch. “What were you thinking of last night?” Gripping hips tight enough to bruise he raised Adam until only the head remained before urging the body down again, thrusting up to meet him and draw a startled cry from kiss swollen lips.

“I was watching,” he shuttered, leaning back to settle hands on Hannibal’s thighs and better the predators view. “I watched you butcher a sounder and then I took your place to carve up another.” He rolled his hips to draw a quiet sound from his lover before pushing down again, gripping tight the flesh inside him to force a sharp breath from Hannibal with his pleasure. He smiled meeting eyes the color of wine as they drank in his naked form.

“Your mind wonders whether you wish it to or not.” He bucked again to make his breath hitch and body draw taught. The beginning to his end, “You see death wherever it is present.” Half lidded storm clouded skies seemed to smile at him in silent confirmation before sliding to his lips. A habit of William’s Adam had not been able to break. “You become the bringer of death regardless if it suits you.”

Blue grey fell closed as a keen mind moved to focus on the movement of hips and building pressure in the base of his stomach. Hannibal enjoyed seeing him cum without the assistance of a hand to his cock. He’d seen it the night before when the doctor had worked so hard to bring him to his end without the assisting touch.

It fed his ego and narcissism to bring Adam to his end by body alone and was a gift he would give him again if only because he enjoyed the sensation of reaching his climax from within himself. He focused on the perusal of his pleasure and empathised with the drawing of Hannibal’s, focusing on his keeper and the pleasure coursing through him caused by Adam, it urged him forward and pushed him to pursue his end without aid to his weeping cock.

“You enjoy it.” Hannibal continued, pushing himself to the hilt and stilling to hold Adam mounted as he climaxed, keeping his bucking hips in place with gripping hands as he rode out his pleasure, the evidence of his end spilling out between them to streak silvering chest hair.

He took a breath, head lulling between his shoulders as he felt the gentle urge of hands to continue and followed their lead, allowing Hannibal to pursue his own pleasure with a quicker pace now that Adam’s had been found. “It makes me feel powerful,” He sighed, as Hannibal buried himself deeper, taking his pleasure past the buddle of nerves that made Adam keen. “It makes me feel righteous.”

He found his end within him, filling Adam with his heat as he examined the face of a man nothing like the one he’d seen in photo’s the night before. “Beautiful.” He whispered, pulling Adam down to lie against him for a kiss.

They remained that way for several minutes, with Adam laid over Hannibal and the killer buried inside. “Beautiful?” Adam smiled, closing his eyes to rest against his lover as they caught their breaths. “There are thousands of killers lose in the world. What is it that makes my violence a thing of beauty against theirs?”

He buried his nose in soft curls and smiled into a scent of warm sweetness that was both peculiar and Adam, “Because we are alike.”

“Two sides of the same coin?” Adam grinned against his collarbone, kissing one of the onyx marks he’d sucked into flesh the night before, “Because we remove those unworthy of life.”

“We give them a greater purpose in death.” He eased his flaccid cock from the yielding flesh of Adam’s body, drawing a groan from the younger man at the feeling of loss as cum and oil trickled down his thighs. Despite the mess it was a look he could appreciate.

“Like breakfast?” Adam asked with an air of hopefulness, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d ate and if the prominence of his ribs were anything to go by it wasn’t nearly a frequent enough venture for him to start skipping.

“Like breakfast. Shall we shower first?” Adam rolled off him and stretched, drawing his arms above his head to pop shoulders and feel more of the quickly cooling warmth run down his legs.

He would have gladly waited until after food for the shower if it wasn’t for the sticky mess between his thighs. “Such a proper monster,” He pressed another lazy kiss to thin lips before sauntering into the washroom. “I get first wash, you made the mess.”

Grinning over his shoulder Adam didn’t close the door as he stepped inside, a mist of steam soon filtering out the jarred door. The proper monster watched as ghosts of heated water crawled into his bedroom in invitation for one monster to join the other.

Rising from the bed he followed his lover into the shower, it would be rude to refuse an invitation.

OoOoO

“Oh my god,” Adam nearly moaned around his mouthful of fluffy eggs and juicy sausage. “This is amazing.” He licked his lips to gathering the lingering taste of smoky meat and tried his coffee. He could have died from the taste of sweetened bold roast alone. “Did you make the sausage?” He hadn’t expected Hannibal to be a terror in the kitchen, but he hadn’t expected to find himself dining at the hands of a gourmet either. His monster could cook, better than that he obviously enjoyed it and enjoyed seeing others take pleasure in his culinary art.

If meat that seemed to melt on the tongue and perfectly sweetened coffee were but the tip of the ice burg Adam would gladly hand the chore off to him. The idea of standing at a stove wasn’t all too appealing to him anyway. It was probably a factor towards his being so skinny.

Sipping his own coffee Hannibal was more content watching his angel consume the flesh of lesser beings than indulging in it himself. It filled him with a warmth he hadn’t thought himself capable of feeling anymore, a sense of belonging he wanted to keep as he watched another so much like himself devour human flesh knowingly. “I’m very particular with what I put in my body,” he explained, at last lifting his fork to sample a portion of protein scramble. “For that reason I prepare most of my food myself.”

Despite efforts not to scarf the fare he’d been presented Adam was already pushing away an empty plate, satisfied in a way that left him neither hungry nor full. “So it’s made from people.” He summarized, draining his coffee and rising to get another. He had a feeling from the edge of a caffeine headache pressing in on him that he was a bit of an addict. “Do you eat other meats?” He rinsed his plate and deposited it in the dishwasher before refilling his cup, returning to his seat at the table.

“I partake in all forms of protein,” he watched Adam move around his kitchen with some measure of comfort in his steps. His feet were healing cleanly and would continue to do so under his care. Though it would still be preferable that Adam remain off them for a few days, he enjoyed seeing the man take a moment to keep his sanctuary clean. “I have a few butchers I trust for the purchase of meat,” He selected another piece of flesh and thought of the doctor it had come from with delight. He was serving a far higher purpose filling their bellies than he ever had testing blood. “I simply prefer my own.”

Their conversation was interrupted by an abrupt knock at the door. “Do you often get visitors first thing in the morning?” Adam asked as he watched the micro expression of his lovers face change to one of curious annoyance, their attention drawn towards the door.

It would appear that Hannibal didn’t enjoy being interrupted during meals, it was a bit of knowledge he tucked away for later. It was good to know what the killer you were sleeping with found annoying.

“If you’ll excuse me,” He rose from the table, leaving his breakfast to cool and company to wait as he walked the short distance from his dining room to the front door.

“Good morning Dr. Lecter,” A broad shouldered man in a black coat nearly soaked through with rain and looking rather tired greeted as he opened one double door.

It was raining, an icy autumn downpour expected to continue well into the night, one he was more than a little pleased to have saved his Adam from. The man held out a hand in formal greeting and Hannibal accepted it in a soggy shake as was polite, though he made no offer to admit the man into his home. He had an overhang that was doing quite nicely to keep the man disturbing his peace from becoming overly wet and unless he had come to tell him that his office had burnt to the ground during the night and his phone lines were cut preventing a call, he was going to politely harvest his organs and have them for dinner. It was ten in the morning on a Saturday. “I’m special agent Jack Crawford of the FBI. I apologize for bothering you at your home but I need to speak with you. May I come in?”

He knew of Mr. Crawford, though he had never met the man in person. An avid reader of Tattle Crime, Hannibal was well informed on the agent pursuing him. What he was more interested in knowing was to what purpose he was visiting his home and what was contained in the folder peeking out from the wet flaps of his jacket in a vain attempt to keep it dry. Stepping to the side he allowed the agent entry.

Some things were better kept within the house.

A potential murder one of them.

Taking his jacket he lead him into a sitting room away from the kitchen, the last thing he needed was for Adam to search out the facilities and the missing FBI profiler wonder by to surprise Jack as they talked.

“May I inquire what this is about?” He fastened his house coat, not having expected any guests he and Adam had decided to spend the morning dressed in the sleep wear they had forgone the night before, intent on a lazy day in each other’s company and the possible continuation of earlier activates well into the afternoon.

“You can, but I’d like to ask you a few questions first.” He smiled, the look a little less strained and a little more friendly as he took the indicated seat and Hannibal lit a fire. “You have a very lovely home doctor.” He placed the folder on a table set between their chairs but did not push it towards him. Hannibal followed it momentarily with his eyes before settling across from Jack in a seat of his own. He did not enjoy being caught off guard, nor did he appreciate being investigated while in his pajamas. If it wasn’t for the danger of leaving the man alone to wonder the halls of his house and in chance discover Will, he would have left to dress.

“Are you here to investigate me agent Crawford?” he had offered him the chair to the right of the fire. It placed Jack closer to the door, but Hannibal closer to the iron poker he would use to run him through.

“No, no,” He tapped the folder with a finger, eyes drawn to it in quiet contemplation before pushing it fractionally across the table. “You came as a recommendation to me from Dr. Alana Bloom.”

“Dr. Bloom?” He settled some, a recommendation from Alana would have him hidden well beneath their radar. “And what has Alana recommended me for?”

“Due to circumstances I have found myself short two of my best profilers.” He admitted, though it sounded as though he were reconciling with a death that had yet to be confirmed, he had an idea’s whose corps he was waiting on. “Your name was given to me as a recommendation for assisting on high profile cases until such time that Dr. Bloom can resume.”

He reached for the offered file, Jack’s hand moving out to touch his own in warning before it was opened and horrors revealed. “These are high profile criminals Dr. Lecter.”

“Before I became a psychiatrist I was a surgeon for an emergency ward.” The hand remained.

“I just want you to prepare yourself, these won’t be what you’re used to seeing.” Hand removed he opened the folder. The first picture to face him was beautiful. “This is a file of one of our current cases. The profile on the killer was never completed. I was hoping you might be able to supply us with a profile on this killer and perhaps a few other.”

“You said that you were down by two profilers though you only mentioned the assumed return of Dr. Bloom. Would it be safe to assume that ‘due to circumstances’ the death of one has affected the other?” He turned the page to find another of the same clipped to a report describing the deceased. There were two more beyond that before he recognized one for all the slight differences it held from the rest.

The murders had been committed by one they called the ‘Angel Maker’. His victims all stripped, flayed, presented and burned. Their skin hung with hooks, wire and string to keep the flesh spread as angel wings, their genitals removed and their hands bound in prayer before they were left to burn in hell fire made by their prosecutor.

Each victim had been executed and displayed in the same artistic cruelty as the first, each victim identified by their dental records alone.

Each victim the same but one.

The last photo was different, a break in the cycle due to a lack of equipment and an unexpected change of hands.

The final body had been found slumped and burnt. The flesh and sticks that had held the victim in form had burned away to leave little evidence of their standing form. But the rocks that had held his charred body propped and the hole is his neck still remained.

This was his dear Adam’s kill.

A replica of the murders Will had been chasing before he had been caught by the Angel Maker and destined towards victimization.

“We have nothing confirmed.” Jack may have been trying to convince himself of lingering hope, but the doubt Hannibal heard within him spoke of memories of Miriam Lass. “He was chasing a lead on this criminal before he disappeared.”

He wondered if the information he was about to feed him would ease his pain or feed its fire, “The last murder was retaliation from the victim.” Hannibal announced. “The corpse is your killer. His intended victim mimicked his methods and escaped.” He leaned back in his chair, leaving the folder open between them with his lovely Adam’s murder on top.

Jack looked from the photo to the report. “How can you be so sure?”

“While all other victims had been purposefully burned alive, the last one was not.” He fingered a line in the autopsy report, “he died from the wound to his throat, one I suspect to be a defense wound from his intended victim. I would assume the rest to be the results of temporary insanity triggered by trauma.” He watched as Jack’s jaw clenched with thoughts of a profiler lost to insanity rather than death. It made him more curious as to who Will Graham was that he would vastly prefer one over the other. “There is no guarantee that the victim was your profiler Agent Crawford.”

“There’s no proof that it wasn’t.” He sighed. “We found the murder weapon, but the prints were too smudged to lift a proper ID.” He flipped the folder closed, face hard as he mulled over the information provided. “We believe that the last victim _is_ our missing profiler, though we have yet to find his body.”

“Do you believe he’s dead or you hope for it?” Hannibal pressed the still raw wound to watch Jack squirm.

“I would prefer it to the alternative.” He admitted, glancing from the folder to the doctor across from him.

“The murder was committed in self defense. I hardly think that paints your profiler a killer.” He played the role of a comforting soul.

Jack shook his head, leaning back to stare at the fire as though the flames might give him answers not yet known, “There’s a difference between self defense and mutilation.” Though the look in his eye said there was more to know, “You don’t know Will Graham. He’ll serve time this if it was him, for what he did to the body.”

“I believe a psych evaluation would be necessary before incarceration. We have no idea what methods may have used in the apprehension of Mr. Graham.” He steepled his fingers, relaxing into the game of devil's advocate, “He may have been suffering delusions prior to the killer’s execution.”

Silence fell between them, the void filled only by the sound of wind, rain and the crackling of wood on the fire. “I hope you’re right. But regardless I still need a profiler until Alana is able to return to her duties.” He tapped the folder, reminding Hannibal of the beautiful horrors inside. “There would be a lot more like this, some worse.”

“Alana is a good friend of mine. I would be happy to help.” Though it still left him curious, “May I inquire what it is about Mr. Graham’s disappearance that has left Alana unable to work.”

A serious look was cast to him, though it was one of knowing, “I’m not at the liberty to say, it’s a question you’ll have to ask Dr. Bloom.” Slipping a card from his pocket he placed it on top of the folder, “We’d be happy to have you on the team Dr. Lecter. Thank you for your time.”

It wasn’t until after he’d seen Jack out and flipped the lock that he returned to the study in search of Adam, his angel at last creeping out from his hiding place see what he had only listened to before. “That was quite rude of you Adam, listening in on our conversation like that.” He stepped closer, coming up behind his angel to grip him around the waist with one arm as he turned the pages of the file with the other, setting stormy eyes on the remains of the kill he’d left to burn.

But it wasn’t the photo Adam was looking at, it was the report pinned beneath it. “Who’s Will Graham?”

OoOoO

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are playing with fire, your comments are holding the extinguisher to put the kudos out.


	4. Storm Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Hannibal have a discussion about who he use to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! If you've been wondering where the hell I disappeared off to I've had a LOT of family and friends visiting and been away on vacation. My opportunities for writing were next to nil. 
> 
> But now I'm back to work and everything seems to be settling again so hopefully the story updates should return to something a little more regular. C:
> 
> Now onto the story!!!
> 
> This chapter is for Min@ruis, thank you for always being such a supportive reader~<3
> 
> I OWN NOTHING!!!
> 
> This isn't Beta read.

“He’s a profiler for the FBI.” Hannibal answered in half-truths, no lies given but the omission of certain information not yet necessary for his Adam to be made aware. “Is he familiar to you?” He took Adam by the shoulders, running hands in a slow soothing drag from shoulder to elbow, easing the slighter man to lean back against him. He watched fingers paler than his own slowly turn the pages of a folder he hadn’t been meant to see.

“These are familiar.” He murmured soft in answer, running his fingers along the glossy images of the Angel Makers victims. Will had been meant to become one of those beautiful bodies displayed on lengths of twine and wire. His flesh flayed and spread like wings and hands bound in silent prayer for the forgiveness of his sins. Instead Will had been saved by Adam, created by the Angel Maker in another form, such beautiful irony for the killer to have created his own Angel of Death.

He turned the pages of the folder to the killing made by Adam himself, comparing the raw necessity of Adam’s quick work to the slow thoughtful process of the killer he had ended. Hannibal wondered how the work of art his beloved had created may have turned out if he had been given the proper supplies to create.

It was a question he would have answered soon enough. “You recognize the bodies of the man you killed?” He let stormy eyes slid over the charred form of the one he had finished, the ending he had not stayed to behold. Adam hadn’t thought he would have the chance to see the end result of his work. It was beautiful.

Skin burned to the wet muscle and charred bone, jaw slack with the missing muscles needed to hold the bone clenched, throat open to reveal black tissue deeper when the flesh had shrunk back with flames from the cut. He wanted to keep the picture.

“I know them.” He indicated the victims, the ones he had not slain nor known, yet knew the methods of their death in cinematic vivid detail, as though their murders had been created by his own hand, “I know his methods, I know why he did it,” He let his fingers trace along the photo’s edge, as though trying to feel the death that lingered within the glossy surface. “It’s as though he lives in a corner of my mind, carved a hollow for himself in which to crouch and survive past death, to be revived at my finger tips with a summoning of will to recreate the deaths that I have absorbed through his works.” He fall silent, feeling the barest rise of heart beat against his back, the stir of excitement from the man behind him, “I played witness to his heinous crimes like a student to an artist, replicating the masterpieces created by my mentors so that I might better understand them…” He furrowed his brow, anger beginning to rise as he stared on at an image he could not read. “Yet I can’t seem to find myself, understand who I am.”

“Does it matter who you used to be?” He closed the folder, laying the thick manilla on the table where it would remain until Hannibal saw fit to assist the agent further.

He remained silent for another long moment, staring into the fire that popped with flame before them, “It’s frustrating,” he admitted, “not that I don’t remember who I was, but because there are so many others squatting in my mind to dictate who I should be.” A sardonic smile curved his bowed lips, “Including you Hannibal,” He let his fingers intertwine with the killer who held him. “You’re slowly carving a place of your own within my head, claiming a piece of my mind as your own to keep.”

He squeezed that hand, comfort instead of denial. “I would take more than your mind, beautiful boy,” he nuzzled into the soft curls that pressed against his face, smelt the heady aroma of a spicy sweetness that lingered beneath his heated skin, the cedar and jasmine of his soaps and scrubs massaged into ill cared for flesh during their shared shower that morning, and the natural scent of his angel beneath it all. “I would take your soul.” His mind, his heart, his body, they all belonged to him now. He had found the match which had been created especially for him. He would never let him go.

“Should I be worried?” Lifting calloused with murder and aged with years Adam examined the fine lines of a man who had known both hardship and wealth, poverty and plenty. He kissed that hand, pressed aged skin to his lips to feel the shift of tendons beneath his mouth.

That hand cupped his face, turned him to better face the one who stood behind him. “I will only help you to become something better. I will not replace you with myself.”

“Reassuring,” He murmured as thin lips found his own in a pliant kiss, turning in the stronger man’s arms to wrap his own around his waist and feel the heat of the fire radiate against his back. “But I would still like to gain a better sense of who _I_ am.”

Fingers trailed the length of his Adam’s spin, following the line of a curve to settle at the point of tailbone above the swell of his ass, “Do you believe yourself to be this Will Graham?” he pushed, curious if perhaps the agent might awaken, or if his angel would keep the profiler at bay as the profiler had kept Adam locked away within the darkness of his mind.

He cocked his head, considering the question, “I’m not sure.” He set his head to the killers shoulder, examining the curve of his jaw, the stubble that had begun to show along its flesh. Hannibal would shave the greying growth with one of the strait razors he’d seen in the bathroom and then he would ask Adam to do the same.

Adam would take the blade in hand, froth his face with a blend of cream create by Hannibal himself, remove the stubble from his chin to leave in its wake clean, sensitive skin and would look in the mirror at himself still unaware of whether he preferred himself with or without facial hair. If it was Hannibal’s preference or his own. “I could be I suppose. But then again there’s nothing to say that I’m be a journalist or officer and my knowledge of the happenings of these victims comes from that.” He shrugged, a curious smile pulling his lips as he pressed another kiss to the juncture of his throat. “It doesn’t matter who I _was_. Whoever this body used to belong to, their memories are presently in storage. They belong to _my_ body and I haven’t found them yet, he isn’t home.” And he didn’t intend to find them anytime soon, Adam enjoyed killing. He didn’t have any intention to stop, reviving a guilty conscious in the form of officer or profiler was so far down the list of what he wanted it didn’t’ even register. “I have no intention of bringing them back.”

Hands cupped his cheeks to run a thumb along the curve of his jaw, “Beautiful boy.” He smiled, drawing him closer to kiss, gentle and passionate, “I fear the day I lose you.”

OoOoO

The rain poured down in turrets, heavy droplets bouncing off the asphalt as though the sky were placing a game of ‘Jacks’. Paired with the rising winds throwing leaves like scraps of tissue paper from the trees, it was the sort of day that would have encouraged Hannibal to stay inside, enjoy a heady vintage and read by the fire, work on one of his thesis or sketch. Instead he had been forced to venture out.

As with anyone taking in a stray, even one as beautiful as the monster standing by his side, there were certain obligations that needed to be fulfilled.

Clothing was one of them. As much as Hannibal enjoyed seeing his Adam dressed in veils of nothing and his own wardrobe of layered silks, cottons and finely brushed wool, the clothing borrowed hung too loosely from his delicate frame, the excess fabric taking away from the beauty of his slender form. As a man who enjoyed his aesthetics it was a correction he wished to make sooner rather than later, especially with the growing possibility of Adam’s memory loss remaining for an extended period of time. He simply needed to have a few things of his own.

It still left the cannibal curious as to what it was keeping Will repressed and allowing Adam to live, a confusion encouraged by his empathy disorder or something more. It was a curiosity Hannibal fully intended to explore when time allowed, along with Will Graham’s little farm house in Wolf Trap, Virginia. He had found the location listed by his favorite tabloid journalist, the fiery haired reporter seemed to have a personal vendetta against the profiler, more than willing to feed every ounce of information she could render into manipulated words in her articles.

Hannibal had no doubt that a few of the truths listed had been taken out of context. News, honest news, didn’t sell nearly as well as fiction.

“Is there a particular pattern you feel partial to?” Hannibal led the too lean man around the tailors shop, an oddly young woman with a keener eye for seams and suits than he had anticipated upon first meeting ran the small shop. Despite her age, her talent was unparalleled and Hannibal had been purchasing his suits from the youth ever since.

His angel shrugged, running his fingers over bolts of rich fabric soft and smooth beneath his fingertips as though to feel their wealth. “I don’t want plaid.” He said without insult toward the doctor’s particular taste. Hannibal, oddly enough, could make the strange combination of plaid and paisley work to flatter his person suit, the bright bold colors hiding more of his darkness from the sheep they walked amongst as someone paired personality with clothing.

Standing in the claustrophobic shop room, too many bolts of fabric and suit styles crammed into one small place, dressed in one of Hannibal’s many plaid suits, Adam felt like an alien.

Whoever he was now, or had been before, did not wear plaid suits. Possibly, did not wear suits or even own a proper suit. Whoever he had been did not purchase his clothing, any of it, from tailor shops or private boutiques. A simple enough conclusion based on his own lack of knowledge pertaining to any form of fashion or how to proceed in the expensive shops Hannibal had been directing him to. Even here in the privately owned store on the side street of a quiet neighbourhood surrounded by houses Adam felt out of place. It had taken three shops before Adam began to relax and then only with the promise of allowing Adam to select his own wardrobe.

Adam found he could appreciate some of the plainer combinations in suits and high end garments, Hannibal offering his opinion on style and shade while allowing Adam to create a style that would be unique to him. Dark pinstripes only slightly darker grey to the cloth they ran through, plain charcoals and dark blues, were his favorite. Blues in general he’d learned he enjoyed, possibly a favorite color.

Adam turned admire at the strong man behind him examining suit styles, keen eyes running the length of sleeve and thickness of lapels with a calculating look, Adam smiled as he watched.

He also knew he liked reds. The color of drying blood, deep crimson smears turning rust brown against skin or splashing onto earth to mix with the soil and color it with death.

The shade of Hannibal’s eyes.

“I don’t have any money.” Adam reminded his keeper, more than aware of his dependence on this other monster as they shopped for something to wear. “Nor an income.” He smiled, tapping two bolts he found more appealing than others as Hannibal selected a number of suits for the ex-profiler to wear.

“Nor do I expect any form of repayment.” Though he would not be opposed to any sexual favors Adam may wish to share on behalf of his kindness. Smiling at the thought of full lips wrapped around his swollen cock Hannibal first held one suit and then the other against Adam’s slim form. “I think a notch lapel, three button in the pinstripe.” He draped one suit over his arm, “and a two button, three piece in the stone washed grey.” Draping a second he replaced the rejects of his selection back on the rack. “You’ll need to try these on.”

Stormy eyes turned from the suits laid over arm to the man holding them, a simple request, a necessity before any expensive purchase.

He didn’t want to.

Another attribute Adam wasn’t sure had come from his current or former self. He didn’t like shopping, spending money, or showing off clothing like a doll, though Hannibal had been more than enjoying himself in the game of dressing him up. There were already a number of bags in the trunk of the Bentley containing everything from socks, underwear and dental care to casual wear, dress shoes and sneakers.

“Try these on and we will call it a day.” Hannibal promised the man eyeing the suits as though he were personally offended by them.

“Last time,” Adam warned, taking the selection to follow the tailor back to a change stall where he would try them, refuse to show Hannibal and inform the killer yes or no.

Adam had stopped participating in modeling about an hour into shopping, despite Hannibal’s best efforts to coax the young man out. Adam had informed the eager monster that he was more than capable of selecting clothing for himself and if he wanted to see him in them he would have to wait until Adam chose to don them. Hannibal reminded him what he graced his table with and Adam reminded him that he could read people like an open book and his empty threat was noted.

With an indifferent sound of approval mumbled through the door Hannibal placed an order for three suits while his angel was otherwise occupied. Adam could negotiate any clothing he wished to wear or discard with the exception of one.

Hannibal fought the urge to smile as he watched his Adam emerge, a nervousness touching his stomy eyes Hannibal hadn’t witnessed yet as he stepped out of the changing room clad in nothing but the boxers he had lent him. “She said the pants you gave me are too big to wear while measuring, too much fabric getting in the way.” The touch of shyness at his public reveal was a pleasant development to the confidence he had worn when walking the streets naked and alone only the evening before. “I can’t wear them while she’s taking my inseam.” He quietly complained, the youth he had come to trust with all his suit needs already on one knee with a measuring tape wrapped around the skin of Will’s thigh for total accuracy in what would be the perfect fit.

“That is because she is a professional, one who aims for perfection in everything that she does.” Hannibal smiled at the young woman jotting numbers on a piece of paper as she took several more intimate measurements before releasing Adam to re-dress and hide his perfect form.

“You don’t find it invasive?” Adam questioned as he turned from the pair, stilling to stare past walls of fabric to the tiny shop window up front.

He didn’t laugh, but the crinkle of skin by his eyes suggested the monsters amusement with all the mirth that a deep chuckle might have brought. “You’ll be happy to know she takes no pleasure from your nudity. She’s found another woman to fill that space for her.”

The seamstress glanced from her pad to the doctor as Adam dismissed his clothes to instead approach the front door, embarrassment and nakedness forgotten. “He could have worn his shirt,” She shrugged, gathering the earlier indicated bolts of fabric, “I only wanted the pants.”

“Adam?” Hannibal raised a pale brow, watching as his angel strolled to the front door in nothing more than the silk boxers he’d been provided and exited into the rain. “Excuse me.” He didn’t spare the seamstress a second glance, instead grabbing his jacket as he hurried out of the store.

He stepped out into a storm, torrents of rain poured over him, plastering his suit to his flesh with freezing water within moments, rain that felt like ice threatening to turn to sleet any moment in the sharp wind. “Adam?” He hadn’t gone far, the near naked form of his lover easily seen standing across the street. He was crouching over a box, scooping something small and squirming into his arms, protecting it from the weather that froze his skin. Hannibal was there in a moment, hurrying between speeding cars to encompass his shivering angel in the warm heavy wool of his coat.

Adam was already shaking, breath hissing between chattering teeth as he pulled the equally quivering bundle tighter against him, eyes darting between the dark ball of fur and the house they stood at the stoop of. “Th-they abandoned h-im.” Adam managed between chattering teeth as Hannibal guided his barefoot lover back toward the clothing shop.

“What did they abandon?” He fought to stop his own teeth from sounding, pressing his tongue between the front to keep them still as they stepped out of the cold and into the warmth of the store, his favorite tailor waiting for them with towels in hand. He would have to make a point of leaving a generous tip.

Accepting a towel, though not for himself, Adam uncurled his arms from the quivering bundle to reveal the ugliest puppy Hannibal had ever seen, wrapping the small shivering dog in the towel he had been offered instead.

It was a pug, young, no more than a couple of months if Hannibal had to guess. Its face had been mulled, turning what would have been soft rolls of skin and fur into a matted mess of torn flesh and blood, a broken eye weeping optical fluids from the left side of its face made the gruesome mess appear all the worse. “He needs a vet.” Adam announced, turning to Hannibal as though assisting the dog were the most important thing in all the world.

Perhaps to a man who had only known life for two days it was.

“We will take him to the vet.” Hannibal agreed, examining the flood of emotions that danced within his Adam like the storm that raged outside. There was a deep seated worry for the creature he had only just found; concern for its health and wellbeing despite having no time grow an attachment to it, and there was anger. Like lightning strikes flashing through the blue grey sky of his eyes Adam was furious with the man who had abandoned his pet to die.

His Angel of death, the beautiful man who had slaughtered so ruthlessly the night before, found wondering the streets donned in nothing but moon light and blood, had a soft spot for dogs.

“You can borrow one of the sample suits doctor Lecter,” The seamstress smiled, “I’ll have yours pressed by tomorrow if you want to leave it here while you take care of the dog.”

“Thank you,” A Generous tip and a bottle of wine.

OoOoO

The pug, a girl it turned out, would live. Though with the severity of her injuries the animal hospital had informed Hannibal they would need to hold her for a number of days and would never be able to see from her left eye again, as though Hannibal had intended to take the small furry creature home.

As it turned out, Adam did.

“How did you know the puppy was out in the storm?” Hannibal asked as carried a number of bags into the house, clothing, toiletries and the fresh produce that would be needed for that nights dinner. He would worry about arguing with Adam regarding the keeping of the dog at a later date, one close to the animal’s release. If he was lucky perhaps it would contract an infection and die.

“I saw a man carrying a box out into the storm.” Adam explained, as he unceremoniously dumped the bags containing his new clothing by the chair in the kitchen, “I saw him put the box down and push something back in that was trying to get out.” He scowled at the thought, a memory extending beyond itself thanks to his empathy. He could almost feel the wet flesh of a crying puppy against his palm, the nipping of milk teeth as he pushed the dog back into the wet cardboard box to die.

Hannibal made a sound deep in his throat as he considered the information presented. “And you felt that it was your duty to investigate and rescue the orphaned animal?”

Adam grinned, almost laughed as he fell back into the leather chair. “I like dogs.” He said simply, “I like them a lot, better than people.” It was probably the first opinion he knew to be entirely of him own with no influence from others feeding into it. He knew watching the man wonder out to the street corner to abandon the box that it would either be a puppy or kitten being left out to die and in that moment it hadn’t mattered to Adam which one it was, all he knew was that he wasn’t going to let them. The moment he’d laid eyes on the pup curled in on itself whining in pain and cold, helpless and needy Adam realized that he liked dogs, a lot.

Especially abandoned broken ones, they were like him.

Hannibal made a noncommittal sound deep in his throat as he took note of something far more important than the well-being of a dog he would sooner see turned into gloves than want sitting on his couch.

Circling the kitchen island he crouched before the chair to take the beautiful man’s face into his hands, feeling the alarming warmth of fever heated skin, the dampness sticking curls to his Adam’s face revealed to be sweat. “You’re sick.” Hannibal announced at once, turning from his angel to gather a medical kit more fit for surgery than first aid from beneath a kitchen cupboard, withdrawing from it a thermometer.

Adam took the thin glass tub under his tongue, holding it steady as the doctor filled a glass with water and located a bottle of aspirin. He checked the thermometer, reading the thin mercury line with silent consideration before laying it to the side. “A hundred and one,” he smiled, placing two small white pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “You never mentioned feeling unwell; we could have come home sooner.”

“I’ve felt the same since you found me, maybe the rain made it worse.” He dry swallowed the pilled before chasing them down with the water, “Am I in trouble now? Will you send me to bed without dinner?” he smiled as the glass was set aside, his lover taking him by the hand to help him to his feet, leading him upstairs as if he hadn’t been standing on his own all day.

“Not without dinner no, but for this I’m going to need to go out again.” He walked Adam to their bedroom, assisting the slightly younger man in stripping before tucking him into their bed, “A few ingredients for soup, something to help you feel better.”

When he felt his forehead again Adam leaned into the touch, closing his eyes to enjoy the feel of skin against his own, “Nothing as simple as soup from a can?”

“You’re sick, I’m not about to poison you,” the soft press of lips to his hair line seemed to be the silent dismissal of his toxic order, fingers carding through his still damp hair to smooth the strands back from his face.

“What if I like tin soup?” Adam challenged, a smile pulling the corners of his mouth in a gentle pull, he was tired, but that had more to do with the forced outing than the fever boiling under his skin.

Hannibal drew the heavy curtains cast the room under a veil of darkness, the raging storm a soothing lullaby for his angel of death. “Then you would be forced to resign yourself to a life of disappointment.” A quiet laugh sounded from behind as he walked to the door on silent feet, “rest Adam, I will bring you something to eat when you wake.”

He didn’t see the smile that pulled full lips as he left the room, or the devious turn of stormy eyes toward the window. Hannibal was too busy already making plans for a quick trip to Wolf Trap.

OoOoO

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are playing dress up in the tailor shop, your comments are crawling through windows to kill puppy abusers. 
> 
> The author is singing in the rain~<3


	5. Wolf Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal meets up with Alana and discovers a little more about his darling Angel.
> 
> Adam has a surprise waiting for him when he gets home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had to step away from the story for a bit to really think about where I wanted to go with it and what I wanted it to do. I have a plot in mind, one I enjoy and that will honestly believe will be enjoyed by others.
> 
> The way I had been writing 'Adam' up to this point had been heavy driven by comments and reactions to the story, however, that said I still wanted to keep it to some closeness of who Will Graham is or in this case was.
> 
> Which is phenomenally hard given that Adam is the darkness of Will brought to life without his all consuming fear and hatred. He's the Will that doesn't remember he fears becoming the monsters because he has forgotten who he is. What he does remember are all the monster's he's been forced to look at over the years and nightmares that had haunted him for decades and those are crawling to the forefront to influence the darkness and feed it, growing the monster that already lived within Will but he was too ashamed of feared realizing lived within him. 
> 
> Anyway, point is I went over a large portion of the story and re-wrote the second half of this about eight times before I finally settled on this. 
> 
> Everett_Harte, thank you for helping me figure out where the hell I was gong with that and helping me realize there was nothing wrong with what I was doing with this chapter or the story. This fic, for all the help you've given me with it since chapter one, is yours~<3 Thanks darling~<3 <3 <3
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Re-written eight times.
> 
> Not Beta Read.

If Hannibal were to describe the farm house for which Will Graham resided, he would have called it quaint.

The house, though large, only seemed to hold evidence of Will’s existence within the three main rooms; living room, kitchen and bathroom, the reminder of the home appearing to be at the entire disposal of his pack.

And he did have a pack.

Even from where he stood at the foot of the bed located peculiarly in the living room along with his dresser, Hannibal could see the many shades and lengths of dog hair that saturated every surface of the house.

The numerous dog beds only confirmed this.

It was almost enough to have the killer returning to his car for one of his plastic murder suits, just so that he might spare the borrowed charcoal two-piece from dander and hair.

Though the newly acquired knowledge did offer further insight toward Adam’s love for the four legged creatures and his rescue of the mongrel now resting at one of the local animal hospitals, it more importantly allowed Hannibal a clearer understanding to what extent Will Graham had resurfaced in that moment of rescue.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the profiler’s moment of return.

It was a thought to be further explored another time at his leisure, though resting his Adam was waiting. He would only have so much time to explore the little farm house before he was forced to hurry home to his fevered darling.

Approaching the dresser next he opened the first drawer to reveal an abundance of night wear in the form of cotton pull over shirts and boxer briefs. A glance to the salt stained bed sheets made stale with sweat and the lingering scent of fear offending his olfactory offered more than enough explanation for that.

Will suffered from night terrors, enough so to warrant an entire drawer of fresh night clothes at the ready to prevent himself from getting a chill during the night.

Further exploration revealed a multitude of fresh thread bared sheets, all of them stained with rings of sweat from years of suffering.

Such a curious reveal, he wondered if perhaps his Adam would also suffer the sheet ripping nightmares his counterpart had endured or if perhaps he would find a remedy toward their horrors in the comfort of the blood that soaked his hands.

Only time would tell; but Hannibal hoped to have a front row seat.

Venturing further into the home Hannibal found himself exploring the profiler’s small kitchen, opening cupboards to examine cans of beans, instant coffee and bags of soft overripe potatoes with distaste, his refrigerator containing little more than a carton of milk and bag of frozen vegetables. It reinforced his suspicions that Will’s eating habits were near non-existent.

Stepping over one of the many dog beds as he returned to the living room he began to wonder the whereabouts of the profilers pack. Either someone had collected the dogs to care for the beasts during their master’s absence or they had been carted off to a kennel until the time of Will’s return.

He stopped before a hobby desk, the large wooden structure set before the largest window in the living room, providing the profiler with the most natural light for his hobby. He hummed his approval as he examined the beautiful pieces laid out and took a seat before the craft.

His Adam’s other half made fishing lures. The desk littered in small organized piles of brightly colored feathers, bones and bits of string. A small case set to the side containing dozens of small sharp hooks. They were deadly lovely things that reminded him of the man who had made them, his darling Adam as beautiful, alluring and deadly as the small bits of craft which he designed.

Selecting a feather nearly the shade of blood he laid it to the neck of an incomplete lure, the delicate curl of feather bending the hide the deadly point of the hook amongst its beauty. “Lovely,” he smiled to himself, winding a length of string around its stem to hold the plume secure. A knot and a cut and it was complete, a deadly piece of art created by his sleeping William and completed by his own hand, much as his Adam would be.

A creature crafted by the darkness lurking within the depths of Will’s mind to be honed into a master and completed by Hannibal.

He touched his thumb to the hidden point, testing it’s sharpness with a gentle press to feel the give of skin as the point pushed through the callous of his thump. The barest tilt of smile pulled his lips as he watched blood swell into a perfect ruby pearl around its tip, he took the bead of offering into his mouth and sucked the salty drop of copper to dance over his tongue, slipping the hook into his pocket just as the front door closed.

Cursing himself for the carelessness of losing himself in the serenity of his surroundings Hannibal turned to greet the new arrival with a curious look, slipping the desks crafting knife up his sleeve for a quick and easy kill.

“Hannibal?” A soft familiar voice questioned as the tall and beautiful Alana Bloom entered the dingy farm house, looking as out of place in its design as Hannibal. She was dressed in a beautiful dark grey jacket tapering at the waist to swell with her hips and offer a shape to her slender frame Hannibal could appreciate, bringing with her a certain light to fill the room even in her state of obvious distress.

“Alana,” he pushed the blade farther up his sleeve, the implement of death not needed for this lamb, “what are you doing here?”

Dark brow furrowing she turned to meet his approach, “I was about to ask you the same thing.” Not a quip, not a demand, a simply curious approach offered with the trust that came with meeting an old friend and colleague under peculiar circumstances. He had always liked Alana Bloom, her clever mind sharp and just as lovely as the form that held it, yet still so easy to mold just like all the other sheep had been.

“Agent Crawford of the FBI has requested my services for profiling until Will Graham’s return. Since it’s suspected that he was investigating the Angel Maker before his disappearance I thought it might be best if I were to start here.” He explained away his presence in a lie of smoke and mirrors, watching like a beast hidden in the shadows as the lovely brunette stepped into world of his illusion and lose herself within, “Were you friends with Mr. Graham?”

He watched her eyes, beautiful blue orbs far truer to the oceans depths than his Adam’s storm grey, as they began to water, taking on a shine that made them even more-lovely to behold. As the opening came he was quick to make his approach acting as a friend, feigning concern as he took her by the shoulders in an act of comfort he did not feel, “Alana?”

She closed her eyes to fight the tears, beautiful painted lips drawing into a tight line as the little crystals rolled to leave a line down her cheek, “I’m sorry,” she took a breath, “we were, we are engaged.” Swallowing with a throat made tight with sorrow, an effort to collect herself, she worked to blink away the tears.

Hannibal wondered what it was to harbour such emotions. He knew compared to the beautiful creature before him what he felt would be far closer to that of a desert. His oasis of emotion long since dried with the death of his darling Mischa. Though something had begun to stir within him with the unexpected arrival of Adam, another like himself; it was something he hadn’t known he needed and now would never let go.

“I’m so sorry Alana.” She took another shaky breath as Hannibal helped her to one of the many dog hair saturated chairs, taking a seat across from her in another act of comfort.

She truly was beautiful when she cried.

“Its fine,” she swallowed again, clearing her throat as she turned still watery eyes toward the doctor, “You’re here investigating? What is it that you’re looking for?”

He watched her, the careful control she exuded as she worked to keep herself in check, to stop the tears and hold herself steady, “Are you sure this is something you wish to discuss Alana?” He took her hand into his own, circling his thumb almost intimately along over the fine bones of her hands as he met ocean blue eyes.

“I’m fine,” the tremor of her voice said otherwise, “I want to help in any way I can.” She smiled and it was with a strength she drew on to push forward, one he had admired in her since the day they’d met.

Nodding he conceded to her wishes, his own curiosity strong enough to have him yield. “I’m trying to discover who William Graham was. I believe a better understanding of the person may help me discern his motives and possible last movements before his disappearance.”

She frowned, lovely full painted lips drawing down, “Why are you trying to track Will’s motives? Should you be focusing on the killer?”

A moment of quiet passed between them, the dying wind of the storm outside their only break to the silence, as though Hannibal were trying to work toward the courage to tell her a hard truth. Truth or not, it was something he knew the woman wouldn’t wish to hear. “The killer has been found.” He explained, earning a look of utter confusion from Alana.

“If the killer’s been found then…” So strong, Hannibal thought as he watched her swallow back her fear, force her tongue to form the question he so wished to hear, “then where’s Will?”

“I’m sorry Alana, but that’s why I’m here. William is still missing. Though we found the body of the killer, we have yet to discover William’s.” This time she did cry. Shoulders quaking in a silent sob as she was forced to work through the onslaught of information provided.

He took her into his arms, allowing the salt of her tears to wet his shoulder as she cried. “I will do everything in my power to find him for you Alana. We must hope for the best.”

“Oh God, no, no it’s worse than that Hannibal.” She sniffed into his shirt, “he’s sick.”

And wasn’t that interesting. “Sick?” He encouraged her to continue, soft circles smoothing into the rough wool of her jacket as he rubbed her back. “What do you mean?”

She was looking for the words, he could feel it beneath his hands in the softly shuttering breaths and calming of her tears, he was trying to find Will, trying to help her and she wanted him to succeed. “We don’t know.” She began, but didn’t stop, “he’s been running a fever for a couple of days, possibly weeks.” She sounded bitter about it, a fight they had shared no doubt in regards to his health and personal disregard for it, “Jack was pushing him so hard on the Ripper case and more recently the Angel Maker. He pushed him on any serial killer whose case made it to his office with total disregarded to Will’s health.” Another breath and she pulled away again, angry at Jack and Will and herself for allowing it, she stayed within the confines of his arms while allowing enough space between them for composure.

“He was scheduled for a CT scan.” She continued, voice steadying, “I caught him following something with his eyes more than once around the house, that was before he started hearing things in the walls. The cries of animals stuck in the chimney…I didn’t discover the fever until he was so far gone…”

“You are not responsible for this Alana. Do not allow yourself to feel as though you need to take the blame.” He wondered how long it would be before his Adam began revealing to Hannibal these signs, or if perhaps he already had…

He wondered what it was he had watched within his basement that night.

“I’m his fiancé! I’m supposed to be on top of this!” She berated herself, “He was working so many hours, I hardly saw him outside of work.” She could have been making excuses for herself, she could have been explaining to Hannibal why it had taken her so long to see. Either way it had led to the loss of Will Graham and his gaining Adam. “I pushed him to make an appointment for a brain scan after finally convincing him after weeks to take one night off of work and stay over.” She shook her head at the memory; it would have been the beginning of their fight. “He woke up to a night terror, that’s when I finally noticed the fever.” The hint of a scowl confirmed his suspicions of a disagreement between them. “We fought for almost an hour before I finally got the truth of how sick he really was out of him. We made an appointment the following day for the scan.”

“May I ask how long ago this all happened? Did he make it to his scan?” For the look she had to answer he might as well have asked if she’d put a gun to his back.

“His scan was set for Monday. I made the appointment Friday morning.” She turned her attention to the ring on her finger, modest but nice. He would have bought her a bigger diamond. “Our last conversation was a fight. I told him to call in sick and stay home. Jack said he needed him to work because people were dying.” Silence fell, a sense of shame, “he went to work.”

“And you offered him an ultimatum to protect him.” She nodded, the movement barely there, “to stay home and get better or take a break from your relationship until he did.”

“I should have been sterner. I should have forced it.” She said with shaking breaths, “If I had put my foot down and told Jack no myself he would still be here.” She blamed herself entirely, regretted her parting words and wishing for other endings, ones she would never see.

Alana truly was beautiful when she cried.

He wondered if Will would cry if he were to see her, or if Adam would laugh and drink her tears because she would never see William again.

OoOoO

Returning to an empty home had never been any reason for concern for Hannibal in the past; he welcomed his solitude, the killer having a deep enjoyment for his privacy. However when he returned home to find his bed cool and the body that should have been warming it during his absence missing he couldn’t’ help the touch of concern that shifted through him at the prospect of Will’s return.

If this was simply another of Adam’s wonderings, the man refusing to remain where Hannibal left him for any amount of time, then he was would be forced to buy a tracker and sew it under his skin. He wouldn’t want to lose his stray because he decided to go wondering would he?

Leaving the bedroom he checked the bathroom, study, library and kitchen before moving toward the only room in the house his darling had shown any real interest. His worry dissipated when he opened the door to find the lights. A sense of excitement filled him when the thick scent of copper touched his olfactory.

He made the decent into the basement on silent feet, taking each step with quiet pursuit as he made his way to the bottom, walking the short distance from the stairs to the fridges. He found his Angel standing like a god at its center.

“What are you doing Adam?” He came to stand behind him, taking his Angel around the waist to examine the work that struggled before them, the still living corps of a man soon to be dead writhing in pain on the medical table as he was slowly taken apart.

“He hurt the dog,” his Angel explained with a coolness Hannibal recognized from himself as he mimicked his kill of the Wound Man with an amateur hand. “I like dogs,” he furrowed his brow, “it’s one of the only things I know that comes from me.” He selected another knife from a line of blades set neatly to one side, a serrated six inch blade from one of the many cardboard boxes from target piled by his freezer.

Adam had gone shopping.

And then he’d gone hunting.

He examined the blade in hand, turning it to inspecting the gleam of steal in the yellow artificial lights overhead before touching it to the man’s thigh, “This isn’t me,” He pushed it through muscle with a slow firm press, watching the man strain against the five point restraints that held him to the surgical table, “but it’s in my head, clearer than anything else hidden in the fog of my mind, I can see this man easier than I can see myself.” Another knife, another point to flesh, Hannibal took his hand to re-direct to a better angle, an easier cut through the tough muscle.

It made his pulse race to watch this beautiful creature kill in such a way.

“You mentioned before that you felt as though you had a swarm living within you, making up your insides like a mosaic. Is what you are doing now from one of those pieces?” He knew it was. So many interesting facts were coming to light. Though he had known Will to be pursuing the Ripper, he had not known to what extent that pursuit had been. It was becoming clearer now, to see the depth in which his empathy had taken him in trying to understand Hannibal as the Ripper, to profile, hunt and catch him as he sought his prey.

Adam drove another knife home. Hannibal’s hand still set gently atop his own to feel the breach of skin around steel and watch the man twist as he was flooded by pain.

He opened the drawer on the tables side and selected a scalpel, “Not a piece, no. This one is more consuming. When I was fighting for my life I had become the Angel Maker, mimicking as much of his murders without knowing that was what I was doing until I had seen the photos from that folder. He was a shadow to the vastness of the night sky. This darkness is consuming me.”

A galaxy without stars.

When Will Graham had lost sight of himself he had been so tightly wound around the Ripper that the monster had stayed, crouching in the darkness to crawl into the forefront of his mind and spread like a disease.

His empathy wasn’t only working against him, it was exacerbating the killer living in his head, pushing him away from the fear and anxiety he had seen so clearly in the photo depicting Will Graham’s life and toward the chaos of the ripper.

A puzzle missing all the right pieces and being remade with the cut outs Hannibal pushed in their place.

Adam slid the scalpel in a near perfect line to replica Hannibal’s own; the incision was shallow, needing to be run along by the blade a second time to breach the flesh with the delicate cut. “It’s you isn’t it?” he rolled up his sleeve, pushing the flesh apart with blood soaked hands and reached inside the warm body to take the organ of choice in hand and dragged it from the cavity. “You know who I was before this, don’t you?” Jerking the liver clear he severed it from the flesh. “That’s where you went, isn’t it? To look at the life I left behind?”

He dropped the liver on his chest to watch him scream around the gage.

Hannibal wanted to bend the clever boy over the table and take him from behind.

“Why makes you think that?” He wouldn’t deny it, there was no use in lying to his Angel, he had already come to accept him; furthermore, he needed him to survive. Still lost wondering the forest of his own mind.

A laugh, airy light from the man dripping blood within his arms, “There’s no way you went grocery shopping for four hours just to pick up a piece of chicken, especially when I know you prefer soylent green.” The screaming, if possible, became more frantic from Adam’s captive.

He couldn’t help the smile that pulled thin lips as he was ousted, kissing a tender path against the smooth skin of neck, “Clever boy.”

“You give me too much praise.”

“I don’t believe I give you enough.” He tugged the scalpel from bloody fingers, laying the medical equipment aside to instead press another serrated knife into his hand, guiding him to touch the blade above the man’s heart.

He wanted to see him kill, to watch the light vanish completely from his victims eyes by Adam’s – Will’s – hands entirely. “Tell me Adam, how does this make you feel?”

His stormy eyes did not stray away from those of the pig who was about to be slaughtered, did not avert from the pain he read so deeply within the open windows of his soul. This thing who hurt puppies for the pleasure of it, the power that it gave him, who he had found disposing of another small furry body, too far gone to save, he would watch the life be snuffed from him as he had stolen it from so many before him. “Righteous.” He slid the blade home, felt the scrape of metal against bone and the tremor of life disappearing beneath his fingers.

Hannibal felt longing and pride.

“You feel righteous because the world will be a better place without him in it.” He turned his Adam away from the table, bringing the slightly smaller man to face him in his arms. “You enjoy it because there is a seed deep inside you that my enjoyment feeds, the beginning of your own darkness fed by mine and you fertilize it with the recreations of art.” He pulled him closer for a kiss, pressing their bodies together as one, the blood spray to have ruined Adam’s still new clothes now soaking into Hannibal’s borrowed own. “I look forward to the day when you finish your re-creation of self and make your own design.”

The day of Adam’s rising would come, the terror and art of his killings painting history as Hannibal’s own had left a mark on the world. He would see him to completion if it meant keeping him strapped to a bed and sedated for years as he slowly worked the profiler free from his Adam’s mind.

Will Graham would never see the light of day again.

OoOoO

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are making kites with squares of flesh, your comments are robbing Will's house because no one is home to stop you.
> 
> The Author is running around with a party hat and noise maker while moving a couch.


	6. Nightmares and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack calls Hannibal for his first case and Adam meets the nightmare stag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone~<3 
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who was patient with my while I decided what the fuck I was doing with this story, an even bigger one to the crazy people who read a story with all the tags outlining that it had been taken down for revision. Thanks for giving it a try despite my being it the process of scrutinizing it for review. 
> 
> I re-wrote the second half of chapter 05 something like 9 times before I was satisfied with it and put the story back up with a better sense of direction. Hopefully it's all easy sailing from here, not for Will, our poor baby has a shit storm heading his way, but for writing it should be good. C:
> 
> And on with the fic!
> 
> I own nothing!!!
> 
> Not Beta Read.

Darkness consumed him.  
  
He faded into its velvet caress like a corps drifting to the ocean's depths, his body slipped through winding tendrils as his mind swam in the blackness of its void.  There was peace within the darkness, serenity and calm as he had never known it before and for a moment Adam wondered if perhaps he were dead.  Strangled during their love making or perhaps Hannibal had grown curious what he would look like dressed in rivulets of his own blood, drowning in the thick copper of his life.  
  
His only regret would be not having taken the killer with him.   
  
Such thought of death were proven in falsehood when the sensation of cool water rushed over his feet, up his calves and the chill of night air kissed his skin.  He opened his eyes to find himself clothed in a shroud cut from the starless night sky and the blood of his victims, a moon too large and too full to be real hanging bright and low in the late autumn sky.    
  
It should have been eerie, to wake standing alone in the river surrounded by towering trees, to anyone else it might have been.  But he was a predator and the shadows of monsters that moved within the darkness did nothing to scare the killer standing in the river.  
  
He began to walk, watching the shadows as they moved, others like him, monsters craved of flesh, bone and blood twitching through the forest, the broken steps of disfigured victims and the crawl of those who had killed them; all hidden within the coverage of the trees that framed his river, all fearing the creature who strode down its middle.  
  
This place, Adam knew it, was familiar with the sweep of the current and the fish that swam past his ankles.  He knew that place held meaning to him, though the memories associated with such a land were hidden deep within the confines of his mind and lost to him.  He strode through the river, dressed in nothing, moonlight and blood, as he had been when he'd awoken, when he'd been born.    
  
Despite the cool kiss of water lapping at his legs he felt no chill from it, despite the icy autumn breath running over his skin he did not shiver.  It was as real as memory could provide and as vivid as dreams would allow - as his empathy would allow - so close in its semblance to almost have Adam fooling himself of the realness of the world around him.  
  
A bellow cut through his forest and for a moment his breath stopped, heart skipped a beat as the hollow echo of a demon rang out through the darkness to silence birds that did not exist and bring stillness to the shadows of his realm, the creatures that had followed him within the veil of darkness finding fear in the cry of this beast.   
  
Curious he pressed on, pace quick, eyes shifting, ears attentive to all sounds within his world.  Something was with him.  Something was watching him.   
  
"You don't belong here."  It was a voice he knew but didn't, one edged with fear and lacking the confidence that Adam harboured so easily.  "You need to leave."  
  
leave...He knew without elaboration what the voice meant, not leave the river, not leave the world, leave his mind.  It was a demand to disappear.  
  
A demand he would not acquiesce.  
  
"I have no intention of going anywhere."  Adam's steps were brought to an abrupt halt with the turning of bloody depths upon him, the stags deep maroon eyes almost glowing in the white illumination of the moon.  His breath froze within him as he laid eyes upon the beast.  He was power and beauty incarnate, donned in a robe of his ebony pelt, satin fur and thick feathered plumes streaked with silver by the moons kiss and honored by the towering crown of blood stained antlers that stretched to the sky above him.   
  
If Adam were an angel as Hannibal claimed him to be, then this beast was a god.  
  
A man stood with the stag, his back to Adam, his hand buried in the creature’s soft pelt.  "It's not your right to stay."  The hand that had stroked the tendrils Adam itched to feel stilled, fingers twitching in the black as the man released the beast, "That's not your decision to make."  He scathed turning on Adam in a whirl.    
  
He shouldn't have been surprised, not by the man who turned to face him now.  He suffered from empathy, Hannibal had said, would it be so far a stretch to believe himself capable of compartmentalizing himself?  To grant a physical form to his other half with the strength of his imagination?  
  
No, but it still stirred something in him all the same, a sense of fear, a caution of losing the freedom he had rightfully gained.  
  
"Who are you?"  He stepped closer to the anomaly before him, the man identical and yet so different from himself.  This was who he had been, who he should be.  The true him sleeping deep within the bone cage of his mind.  He was lost in this forest, a world created to be their own and he was searching for the way out.   
  
He wasn't about to let himself become replaced.  
  
"I'm the one who should be awake, not you."  He spat, the fear that had laced his voice thinned, anger and hatred taking its place.  
  
He thought the desire for vengeance suited the tired stubble shadowed face more.  
  
Where Adam stood naked but for the moonlit, skin splattered with the arterial spray he had been born to, the other man stood before him in too big khakis, a faded green polyester shirt and thick rimmed glasses that had no right to sit on their face.  They didn't need them, he knew it, he used their eyes every day and they worked fine.  
  
He considered his words, the underlying promise of blood if he did not comply.  "If I give our body back to you, what will happen to me?"  He canted head, a trait picked up from Hannibal he knew, the man was bleeding into him more and more with each passing day and without a proper sense of self he could hardly stop the transgression.  But that didn’t mean he wished to disappear.  He was becoming his own person; one he hoped would combine the two of them into one with his control.   A control he would keep, to retain his new sense of self, with the slow regaining of their memoires.  
  
He refused to disappear.  Now that he had woken up, a personification of the darkness that had lived inside them, the raw capability of the monster they were meant to be, he would never sleep again.  
  
They'd had a taste for blood.  There would be no taking that back.  It didn't matter who became next.    
  
"You'll die.  Another monster locked away in another box."  He stepped toward him, the towering stag on his heels - loyal dog to his master.  It was a sight to behold, this man walking against the current of the river, illuminated by moonlight, the imposing figure of the nightmare stag towering behind him in his ascent.  Hannibal had been wrong.  Adam was no angel of death.  This man, his other half, was the hand that had fallen upon Egypt.   
  
"Lock me in a box to haunt you with the rest of our nightmares?  Torture you as one of the beasts who run through our forest?"  He was gathering thoughts now, the river feeding into him hint of memories and self he had forgotten.  
  
Filling him with Will.  
  
He smiled with a twisted freedom that this man would have never allowed himself.  "No I won't.  Whatever happens between us:  You’re awakening, my remembering, our coming together as one.  I will never sleep again." If he had to kill them together, he would never sleep again.  
  
Calculating, two monsters made the same and they lunged.  They lunged and it was a fight that should have never been, two killers one in the same struggling to end the other, their witness and judge the nightmare stag who stood over them like a God.  Watching them as the father had once watched the battle of Michael and Lucifer for freedom and imprisonment.  Their cage waited.  
  
Hands caught cloth while fingers slipped on slick skin and Adam proved the victor, knocking his other self to hold beneath the rivers surface.  He would not lose, he couldn't.    
  
Thumbs pushed into the windpipe of the man who would sooner see him die, stormy eyes identical to his own watching as he worked to kill himself from within the rushing waters depths, "When you wake up, Will,"  the name was biting, "You'll be the one joining me, not the other way around."  He pressed harder, felt the dig of nails in his skin, the scratch of flesh rolling down his wrists beneath nails, body arching beneath where he straddled on his chest for escape.  "I will win."  
  
  
  
He woke to the sound of vibrations against wood and the feel of a strong arm holding him close, head on the predators chest to feel the rise and fall of breath and hear the quiet beat of his heart as he slept, Hannibal holding him close despite the fever that made him sweat.  Adam knew without having to look that there would be salt rings on the sheets, he also knew without having to ask that Hannibal didn't care, the man more pleased to have Adam in his bed than worried about the staining of satin or silk.   
  
"You should sleep Adam," Calloused fingers combed slicked curls back from his youthful face, the press of thin lips to his crown as his free hand found the cell phone charging by the bed, answered with the press of a key.  If he had to make a guess, Adam would have said that Hannibal had been expecting the call, as tired as he seemed from being roused, he had not seen the doctor take his phone to bed with him before.  Yet here it was, waiting for the doctor to answer as they slept.  No note of disgruntlement in him for having been disturbed beyond the tired that came from being woken.   
  
"Jack?"  Though he feigned the confusion, the sense of fatigue was all too real; he had taken little more than two hours of sleep before the call, the hour still early at only 6:34am.  "Has something happened?"  He had been kept awake by the persistence of Adam's fever and it's reluctance to break under even his careful watch.  It wasn't until he forced the temperature of 102 to settle at 99 that he allowed his angel to sleep and had disappeared to settle other matters at hand.    
  
He had kept his Adam asleep this time with a small amount of sedative mixed in his lemon-ginger tea, insurance that the man would not be tempted to wonder the city during his absence again.  But despite its breaking he could feel the rising of heat under skin once more, the warmth of the fevers return seeping into his fingers where they touched.  He would have to give more careful examination to Adam's ailment upon his return.    
  
"We've got a body."  The agent’s voice was heavy with concern, a burden sitting on his shoulders as he was made to consider options he had not cared to face before.  "Shirlington Dog Park.  Arlington, Virginia.  You know the way?"  
  
"I have a GPS, I'll be there as soon as I can."  He ended the call with faux concern and a smile, burying his nose in soft ringlets to lose himself in the sweet heated scent of Adam.  "Your fever is back, how are you feeling?"  
  
He felt the shift of the beautiful boy against him.  Let his fingers skim the pleasant curve of his sweat slicked skin to settle on his hip.  His shirt had ridden during the night, revealing a long pale plane of flesh for fingers to dance upon.  "My head hurts more than anything.  I'm light headed.  Feel airy and displaced."  
  
He smiled looking up at those beautiful maroon eyes that almost seemed to glow in the moon light - his feathered stag - and brought a hand to touch beneath those beautiful eyes to have his fingers caught, brought instead to lips offered a delicate kiss against his knuckles, "As much is to be expected when one is sick."  He disentangled himself from the beautiful man and slipped an arm beneath his knees, one behind his back and lifted him much as one might a bride.  "You need to clean the sweat away, cool yourself.  I'll run you a bath.  You will change into fresh pajamas and then once you're settled again I will leave."  
  
His angel gave a snort, eyeing him as he was set to his feet and left to strip the salt soaked pajamas, "Doctors orders?"  He pulled the button up over his head anyway.  This felt close to something familiar, not the same but familiar, the need to change during the night, to wash the sweat from his body and prevent a chill.  
  
A hum, amusement, as the bath was drawn, "Yes."  
  
He stepped toward the killer, the feeling of airy disjointment following him as he did.  If Adam were to be honest with himself he hadn't realized he was sick because he had felt the fever since waking.  He had been sick with it since the moment he'd met Hannibal on the highway.  "And should I refuse?"  
  
A look of amusement graced the killer as he drew the sick man to him, brush the curls back from his elusive gaze and kissed him on the mouth.  "Then I will force you better, but I will not lose you."   
  
He smiled at the reassurance, stealing another kiss before slipping into the tub.  "Go to your meeting, I'll be in bed when you get back."  
  
"You're not feeling the urge to wonder this morning?"  He sat on the tub edge, cupped a handful of cool water and drizzled the cooling liquid over his head.  
  
It felt like ice sliding down his back, skin hot enough to make the cool seem cold against him.  
  
"I'll behave."  He smiled, looking into the water at his legs and memory, "Go."  He would let this man, this predator, make him better, and keep him safe within the confines of his home.  At least until he developed enough of himself venture out on his own.  For now it was too dangerous, he would be too easily fooled by those who would mean him harm.   
  
And he had nowhere else to go.   
  
A wet hand soaked a print through the cotton of Hannibal's sleeping pants as Adam gave him a half-hearted push to leave.  "I'll leave you my number by the bed and more soup.  Eat before you sleep and call should you need anything."  Though those beautiful stormy eyes refused to meet his own he could see the promise hidden within them, a tension that had been held in his shoulders since waking releasing with the promise of keeping him.    
  
As if he would let him go.  
  
Was his Adam concerned he may be forced to leave?  The idea was laughable, enough so to have the monster grinning as he left the ensuite to change the sheets before venturing downstairs.  His Angel wouldn't be leaving and Hannibal wasn't about to risk letting the younger man escape again, not with the possibility of Will waking while Hannibal was otherwise unavailable.    
  
He stirred the clear tasteless sedative into Adam's soup and slipped the cloche over the bowl.   
  
He wouldn't be risking losing Adam during his absence again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are dancing around religious references while your comments are trying to ride the stag.


	7. Birth Of A Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened the Friday Will disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE - There will be no updates during the month of November. I'm joining NaNoWriMe this year and will be concentrating my efforts into hitting the 50K in one month and trying to pump out a novella. So enjoy your update it could be a while before another one...though I am still doing Hannigram writing up until November and will resume after~<3
> 
> This took forever for me to write because I had to use a lot of Alana and I'm not use to writing her. Hopefully everything worked out alright in the chapter.
> 
> It also took a while because 7K is a lot to write and a lot to proof read. ;n;
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who's been reading this and commenting, you're wonderful and my favorite~<3
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Not beta read.

He woke up screaming, heart pounding as his voice was ripped from him.

"Will," hands were on him but he was frozen, blood made ice by terror to keep his body ridged as he continued to scream. “Will!” More forceful than before, the night stand light had been turned on and hands were one his face once more, a soothing voice hushing him, brilliant blue eyes finding his own to bring clam to his raging storm, "Will, it's okay, you’re okay.” Reassurance, he was awake, he hadn’t killed anyone, he hadn’t enjoyed the feeling of flesh giving beneath the blade of his knife as he pushed it through, he hadn’t hushed soothingly as she hushed him now to ease his victims scream. He hadn’t done that, any of that. “You're awake now, Will," he was shaking, body slicked in an icy sweat, fear consuming him as much as the darkness had before the light. He took one of the fine boned hands that held his face into his own and turned into the delicate fingers, buried his face in her palms. 

"Alana," he swallowed, took a shaky breath and opened his eyes again when the sight of blood remained a fresh slick behind his eyelids. "Sorry."

Full lips found his in the gentle press of a kiss, finger combing back curls slicked with sweat, "Nothing to apologize for, everyone has nightmares.” Not like his, he didn’t argue, “Are you alright?"

He nodded, not yet trusting his voice, not with the taste of copper on the back of his tongue. He kissed her hand instead, the only reassurance he could offer before he pushed back the sheets. He needed some water. 

Grabbing his sleepover bag he found a pair of sleeping shorts and an undershirt and pulled on both before wondering downstairs to the kitchen. It wasn't his house, he wasn't about to walk around naked where Alana's neighbours could catch a glimpse of too much through the window. True or not he wouldn’t want anyone starting rumors about Alana and the company she kept.

Despite his silent reassurance, or perhaps because of it, Will’s wife-to-be followed him downstairs. 

"That seemed worse than usual, even for you." She had wrapped herself in a housecoat before following him downstairs. It was soft cream colored satin and hugged her form in a way that left little the imagination in a way that always made him smile. "Has it been bad with Jack recently?"

He found a bottle of Aspirin in the kitchen and swallowed two dry before filling a glass with tap water barely made cool by the run of the faucet. He didn't care how cold it was, he just wanted a drink. "I've been having them for a while.” He admitted because dating a psychiatrist made it hard to lie, “we just haven't had the time together for you to find out." He didn’t have to see Alana to know her dark brows would be furrowed with her ire, shapely mouth drawn in a tight line.

"A while?" She crossed her arms, leaning back against her kitchen island as she regard0ed Will, "how long is a while?"

He wet his lips and glanced back over his shoulder to the woman he loved more than anything in the world, had crushed on since meeting and knew he was about to piss off. "More than a few weeks. Maybe a month or two."

"So since you started profiling for Jack?" She pressed and he finally turned to face her. Even irritated he found her beautiful, dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders to settle against the swell of her breasts, deep blue eyes narrowed and drawing as though to scold him without words and the satin of her gown clinging to the smooth plains of her flesh. He could see the shadow of her nipple though the fabric, the darkness of hair where cloth pooled against her crotch. He always wanted to kiss her when he saw her wearing that robe. 

"Yeah," he confessed, "since Jack." It didn't matter that he was tired, that it was the middle of the night or that this was their first night together in over a month. Will already knew they were going to have this conversation whether he wanted to or not, it would be best for him to just suck it up.

"You know this isn't good for you Will, to look, and these night terrors are proof of that." He wasn't meeting her eyes, nothing new and nothing she had ever taken in offense. It was something she had wanted to study once, something her mind often picked at when she wasn't paying enough attention to shut it off, she pushed to turn that ethical curiosity off now, "You have to tell Jack that you need a break, Will. This isn't good for you and he promised not to push."

He could have laugh at that promise. If only she knew the bullying that went into getting him on the team to begin with, pushed didn’t come close. "Its fine, I'm fine. I'm saving people's lives Alana, that's worth more to me than a couple of bad nights sleep." He looked up at her and then he was looking past her, the great nightmare stag canting it's hooves in the kitchen, its antlers wielding the body of Cassie Boyle high above his future wife. 

Hands were on him again, bringing his mind back from the nightmare that stood before him, his stormy eyes finding her vibrant blue. "You're seeing things..." she murmured, brows drawn together, "You're hallucinating again aren't you?"

"It's nothing Alana, just an overactive imagination." He wondered who he was trying to reassure more, Alana or himself.

"I just watched the color drain from you. It's not nothing. These nightmares are following you, they need to stop...and you're sick." She felt his neck, forehead. "Will, you're burning up."

"I-" A finger to his lips, he was done. She would allow no argument against this. 

Looking out her first aid kit she pulled out the thermometer and pushed the thin tube of glass between his lips. "I don't want excuses Will. I can hear all of those I want from Jack." She stroked his cheek, let the stubble scrap against her palm, catch against her fingers as he was made to wait while the mercury rose. "Tell me the truth, Will. I want to help you, I want to help you.” She touched her forehead to his, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Will felt something inside him shift and threaten to break. He was unstable and for a time it had been enough to keep them apart and prevent them from dating. Almost enough to have the beautiful woman refuse the modest ring that sat on her finger. Now that he finally had her he didn’t want to risk losing her. But lying would do nothing to save them either. She pulled the thin glass from his lips and he relented, "Are you sure you can make that promise?"

She looked at him, read between the lines and wished he didn't feel the need to ask. But she understood where the insecurity came from and where she stood on that mater. She took his hand in hers and tugged him closer; let the ring that sat on her finger like an oath slide against his own. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be wearing this.” Another kiss, a soft smile, “We're in this together, until death do us part."

He smiled and let her lead him to the table, "we haven't reached that part yet, you still have the chance to run."

She let him sit and pulled a seat to sit across from him, knees touching.

"I'm not running Will, I'm not going anywhere."

OoOoO

"Hannibal, I'm glad you could make it. Did you have any trouble finding the place?" Jack greeted the Ripper in the parking lot, dressed in the same dark jacket and polished shoes he'd worn when meeting Hannibal Saturday morning.

“Not too much trouble,” the killer answered squinting into the early morning light, the sky still laced with pinks and oranges in the early hours of dawn. " GPS offer a wide variety of maps, I was able to download one for Arlington before I left."

"Glad to hear it." He took the lead, showing Hannibal to the killing he had set on display not so long before. "Have you had a chance to look over the profiler I left for you?"

The profile had been created by Will Graham, the other half of his darling Adam, it was another step into the man's mind that he wasn't about to forgo. Hannibal had read and studied the words hidden in that folder, but not for the manor of the killing, he'd looked to read the painting as seen by the profiler. The killing as perceived by William.

It made him want to crawl inside him and watch as a murder unfold within his mind. 

"I did, though I don't believe that there is much left to be said regarding the case." An officer lifted a stretched length of yellow and black tape as the pair approached, allowing Jack and Hannibal to slip under and continue toward the scene. "The last file in the folder was the killer was it not?"

Jack tensed, the skin around his jaw drawing taught before he forced it to relax. "We think so." He corrected, "We know so."

"You had hopped I would provide a different answer." He noted, "One that left the killer alive."

They stopped before a tree, large and beautiful with branches stretched as though it wished to cover the world, bright red leaves tipped its branches to make the nature look as though it were blazing with fire. "I was." The agent admitted, "I had been hoping for a copy-cat."

"It is a copy-cat."

"Not necessarily the one I'm hoping for." Jack turned to the three, looked at the body of the wound man left suspended from it. "What about this one? Is this a copy-cat too?"

Attention turned to the tree Hannibal stepped closer knowing full well what 'copy-cat' it was Jack was asking about. "I know the image that's being depicted, if that is what you mean. It’s a recreation of the Wound Man. You see it in many medical text books, though I can tell you now that our killer is no medical student."

"Why's that?" No longer standing back to give the doctor his space Jack came up to join him, approaching the figure fastened to the tree as though seeing it more closely would make the art tell the creators secrets.

Hannibal stepped around him to indicate a laceration under the ribs. "This incision,” he followed his finger above it, careful not to touch as he traced the segment in the air, “the coloring, the tearing at its edges, the killer pushed their arm inside. They weren't entirely sure how big or how deep to make the hole." Unused to working with cattle just yet, But he would be. Hannibal would see to his training personally.

"Not the Ripper then." The disappointment Hannibal read in the broad man’s face went far beyond that of one disappointed in missing his even elusive mark. It was the crush of something deeper. 

"No, though I have not seen your documentation on that particular killer to know for certain. I have however read a number or Miss Lounds articles from Tattle Crime regarding the Chesapeake Ripper," he feigned thought toward memory as though his mind palace were not the perfected halls and rooms of storage that they were. "If we were to take the Ripper into account, and I do believe he made something akin to this once in the past, then this would be a piece meant to commemorate him. Whoever our killer is, I believe they are celebrating the Ripper." It was a gift that he had felt blessed to receive, to witness his darling Adam in the recreation of his own work, slipping so deep into the Ripper's - Hannibal's - mind space as to replicate his own work. "I believe he has a fan."

Jack blanched and Hannibal felt another stir of intrigue, his curiosity piqued, "You look disturbed Jack, I know you’re accustomed to worse than this, especially if you’re hunting the Ripper." He left Jack to infer the question of ‘why’ himself. It would be rude to ask.

Really the man looked as though he needed to take a seat. "It's Will Graham." He said, forced himself to say, throat tight and jaw set against the discord that danced within him. "When we searched the Angel Maker’s car we found Will’s clothes in the trunk."

A measure of silence passed between them, one for Jack to gather his thoughts and for Hannibal to analyze the situation. Decide his next move in the game of chess. "Are you sure they simply hadn't been left there from before?" He knew what Jack was asking and he wanted to make the man say it. 

"We ID'd the body." He explained and it suddenly had him looking years beyond himself. "The dental records were a match for Elliot Buddhish. The license plate was for his car.” If the ground had opened up to swallow him whole Jack might have been grateful for the relieve it would bring, “We spoke with his family, he's been missing since before the meat angels started appearing around town."

Another moment passed, another breath drawn, "You think Will killed Elliot."

"I don't know what to think." Human nature was a puzzle, one Hannibal had always deeply enjoyed and Jack’s struggle was no exception. Did he hope for his friend to have died innocent or for him to have lived as a killer?

"Yes you do." He encouraged, "You simply don't wish to give it life. Once a word is spoken it cannot be taken back and that gives it power. You don't wish to bring reality to the knowledge by giving it life."

“We found traces of Will's DNA in the car, hair samples. They matched the ones we pulled from his house. He was the last victim and the last victim didn't just mimic the killer, they understood them. They killed the Elliot knowing what he wanted to pursue and understanding that he was missing the equipment to properly mimic the method."

All information Hannibal already knew, but it was always so interesting to watch other realize and come to terms with such knowledge. "I've done some research on Mr. Graham since your visit, spoke with Dr. Bloom." He pulled his jacket marginally tighter against the wind. He didn't doubt that there would be frost soon the cold threatening snow. "He was a profiler for you, but one suspected of suffering from an empathy disorder."

"It made him the best." Jack said, eyes staring unfocused on the corpse before them. "I needed the best, people were dying."

He wondered how much comfort that brought the man at night with the loss of two agents hanging over his head, both investigations under his watch and on his call. "He was also sick."

"It was his choice to go." He said, but his words didn’t hold the strength Hannibal knew they would have during his fight with Alana. They would have held bite then, venom for the man to make his own decisions and save countless people over his own life, the sacrifice of one life for many.

"Was it?" Jack would know, know that Hannibal knew. He had spoken to Alana; of course he would be aware of the words exchanged between them. "Then it is of no fault of yours that this has come to pass...though Alana..." He watched the guilt devour him, the knowledge that this was his doing, the life that could have been spared if he had only listened to the man's wife-to-be. A fact Alana would not allow him to soon forget.

He wondered how the court case would go.

Jack returned to the victim at hand. "This isn't the Ripper."

"No," Hannibal confirmed again, "but that doesn't mean it was Will Graham."

"There's only one way we'll know that for sure."

OoOoO

"I spoke with Dr. Donald Sutcliffe and he agreed to move your appointment forward. I got you in for Monday." Alana touched his shoulder, the anger she had held toward him for keeping so much from her for so long draining as she felt the heat of fever through his shirt. He was sicker than he let appearances seem. The last thing Will needed was her anger in his life. 

"Thanks," he looked to her and this time their eyes met, stormy grey and ocean blue, water and the sky. "Probably better than the three weeks they'd originally scheduled me for."

"Hallucinations, voices, fever, headaches." Alana couldn't hide the worry from her face. "I think three weeks would be dangerous, especially given how long you've already let this sit.” 

He laughed, but it wasn't happy, "I know you're right, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"I usually am. I'm sorry I didn't watch you more closely." A bowl of Campbell’s soup found its way in front of him, ginger and lemon tea at its side. 

This time he did laugh, a smile pulling through as he looked at the offering of food, "You're my girlfriend, not my keeper. I'm not your responsibility."

"Fiancée, not girlfriend, and I'm not going to touch on the choice of 'keeper' over 'mother', but it’s part of the 'loving you no matter what' deal that comes with the ring."

He took a spoon of soup and let it burn his tongue, it was good, cheap, reminded him of day gone by. Home sick as a kid with his dad heating tin soup and cheap broth in a pot on the stove, giving it to the boy lying sick on the couch in a chipped bowl or mug before leaving for work. 

He might not have been the greatest dad, but he’d tried, and Will would always remember that.

"Sounds like you got the short end of the stick." He looked at the ring, "Or I owe you a bigger diamond."

She kissed him instead of pinching him and answered the phone when it rang. "Hello?" The smile she'd held in her voice died on the next word. "He's on vacation and he's sick. He's not coming in." Will looked up from his soup, would have stood to take the phone if not for the pointed look. 

He was sick. Very, very sick and should have been taken off duty weeks ago. 

He ate his soup.

"You have other profilers. You survived fine without him before. You'll last one more without him." Will wondered what it was Jack was saying. Alana was getting annoyed, very annoyed, her lips drawn into a line and one arm wrapped around her to hold the cable knit sweater against her. "Good bye Jack." A press of the button and she hung the phone back in the cradle. 

Will pointedly took another bite of soup to show he wasn't leaving before he tried to ask, "Tell me what happened?"

She smiled at him, it was a smile that said: 'No, now eat your soup'. He took another mouthful and debated waiting for it to cool. He smiled as he heard his cell phone beep to life upstairs. "Tell me before Jack does?"

She sighed, poured herself a cup of coffee and joined him at the table. He wanted to steal it. Instead he drank his awful tea, it made her smile and the taste was more than worth it. "They found another victim from the Angel. Jack wants you to look."

"Then shouldn't I go?" The look again said 'soup'. He drank his tea instead. "It's saving people's lives Alana, I already have an appointment set, one more day on the job isn’t going to kill me."

"You have a fever of 102 and you’re hallucinating." She said impassive, there would be no argument and honestly will couldn't think of one to trump 'hallucinations and deadly fever.'

That didn't mean he wouldn't argue. "I’ve been working like this for weeks now, I’m saving lives." 

"Not your own. If you go out you could make yourself worse,” she argued, “boil your brain and die."

He looked up at her from his soup, meeting eyes for a moment before turning his gaze to the window behind her. It was late morning now, creeping into afternoon. "You've thought about this."

"Since last night when you came clean.” She admitted, “You're sick Will, you're a good man who wants to do good things and save good people. But you’re sick. Let someone else be the hero for today.” She took a sip of coffee, warm steam tickling her nose, “You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest if you give me the rest of your coffee.” She smiled, sliding it across the table to him, he took a swallow of burning heaven and slid into a comfortable slouch in his chair. Coffee thieving was the kind of love marriage was built on.

OoOoO

"Anything?" Hannibal inquired as he entered the lab carrying a trey of coffee in hand. The smell of fresh dark roast had a number of heads rising, the forensic team glancing up at the summoning scent of their life blood.

Jack accepted a steaming paper cup with a grateful nod, "Nothing yet," he admitted. But Jack wasn’t about to celebrate. Until they had combed over every inch of that body there would still be a chance of finding something, anything, to connect the victim to Will. He’d learned years ago about false hope.

"You're still concerned that the culprit might be William?" He asked, handing out the remainder of the cups to Katz, Price and Zeller. All eyes found him at the drop of their friend’s name. 

"You think Will has something to do with this?" Katz asked what everyone was thinking, holding the cup to let the heat of the beverage warm her fingers.

Jack took a breath, calm his nerves, collect himself, face the world, "We ID'd the Angel Maker using dental records, matched DNA from his other victims with hair strands found in his car, including one of Will's." He shifted his balance from one foot to the other. "We also found Will's clothes. He most certainly had been intended as the next victim."

“That hardly paints Will a killer.” Price was the first to defend their friend, pausing to take a drink of his own coffee. 

Zeller ignored his own beverage as he finished dusting another knife for prints. “It doesn’t guarantee his the killer,” he corrected, “but everyone knew Will wasn’t stable and the running theory is that the last victim is the killer’s killer.”

Price’s frown deepened “Cruel irony.”

“That a profiler would be a killer, or that the victim would be his killer?”

“Both?”

“We still don’t know for sure Jack.” Katz ignored the duo in favor of finding some hope for their friend. “He could have broken out, made a run for it. There might have been a second victim caught after Will.”

"Who had an understanding of both the Angel Maker as well as the Ripper?” Hannibal offered his own insight, “He mimicked the Angel and now he's mimicked the Ripper." He stepped closer, examining the damage done to the corpse. He could still feel the give of flesh beneath his and Adam's fingers, the push of the knife through flesh. 

"There will be no happy ending in this. Either William a victim and dead or he is a killer.” He turned his attention to Katz, “I'm afraid I see no reason to believe otherwise, especially not with him having worked while sick."

"He was sick?" It was Price now, looking up from his dusting of knives to look at their boss, "What kind of sick?"

"Does it matter?" Zeller asked, stopping his dusting long enough to take a swig of coffee, "We all knew he wasn't quite right."

"Alana told you?" Jack asked Hannibal, ignoring his team for the time being. 

“As I mentioned before, I had the chance to speak with Dr. Bloom.” He wondered if he would be asked to attend Jack’s trial. He didn’t doubt Alana would be pursuing legal actions. 

"Jack," They turned to Katz, tweezers in hand as she slowly lifted a single strand of hair into view, "I found something."

OoOoO

By late afternoon Will was resting on the couch with Alana curled into his side watching a romance movie he would have happily done without but found himself enjoying thanks to the woman curled into his side. Be it his empathy or love for Alana he never seemed to have much trouble getting through a chick flick.

He closed his eyes, arm looped in a lazy hold around Alana’s waist. He was just starting to drift between sleep and consciousness when a sharp knock at the door sounded. "Someone's at the door." Alana whispered when Will continued to hold her against him, unwilling to let the beauty go.

"Is there?" He cracked open an eye, peeking down at the brunette tugging lightly at his arm. "Do you think they'll go away if we ignore them?"

"Yes, but that would be rude.” She smiled, “I'll be right back." She kissed him and for a moment he wished he could stop time. It had always been during those moments - the simple quiet ones - that Will felt most loved. She would be back, always came back and always asked him back. 

She always wore her ring. 

He paused the movie and let his arm fall away, watching as Alana wondered away in pursuit of the door, yoga pants clinging so nicely to her bottom and legs he couldn't help but watch as she left. For all his skill as a profiler he had yet to figure out Alana’s interest in him. She could do better.

"I'm positive this qualifies as harassment." Will heard from the entrance way and didn't need to hear any more to drag himself up from the couch and wonder toward the door.

"He's here isn't he? I need to speak with him Alana. It's important." Jack was calm, not quite demanding as he allowed certain amount of urgency through his voice. Jack needed Will, and he was at a point where he wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. 

Will stepped around the corner to see his boss standing at the door, uninvited in to hold this argument over the threshold and in the house. Which meant Alana was pissed. "He's sick Jack, never mind that he’s on vacation, he's sick, very sick. He's not going."

He looked past Alana to the man he sought, "I think that's Will's call to make." She turned to Will and the rage was evident. She was furious with Jack’s arrival and with his demands after the earlier refusal, Will didn’t see this ending well for him no matter what way he looked at it. "Will, we found another body."

"Jack," Alana was right, it was one day, just one day, one weekend, and he needed it. Since allowing Alana to care for him the little that she had he had begun to feel exactly how sick he was. His exhaustion was bone deep, his skin was on fire and his head was a pounding mess. He needed a break and everyone knew it.

Jack didn’t give him a chance to state his opinion, "It's changed Will. He's changed his methods and I need to know why before another body shows up."

"Jack, I'm sick.” He tried and felt the supportive hand of his future wife touch his back, “Alana is right, I shouldn't be out there. I've been sick for weeks now."

"Weeks that you worked through, taking killers off the streets and saving lives.” He tried to reason with him, “Will, this could be what brings him in. You need the scene to work and this one can't be more than a few hours old. I can't get it any fresher than that."

Her hand fell away, Alana taking a step forward as though to protect Will, block him from Jack’s words with the barrier made by her, "Jack if you need someone then let me look. He’s already said no, leave Will to rest."

"Will has been working on this profile for over two weeks, he knows the killer better than anyone, and you and I both know he profiles better than anyone. If there's something to be seen from this he'll see it. No one else will do, I need him.” He might have been speaking with Alana, but he was looking at Will, looking at eyes that refused to meet his own.

She wasn’t detoured by his insolence, "He's sick Jack! Sick! You can’t do this to him!”

He ignored her in favor of the man who could put another monster behind bars. "I know you can do this Will, you’ve been doing it for weeks now while eating Aspirin like candy.” Will didn’t meet his eyes, but he was at least looking at his face now, “You know you can do this, so know that if you refuse then every death to come after will be on your shoulders. You could have stopped him."

This time Alana stepped directly in front of Will, forced Jack to look at her instead of Will, "This is blatant harassment, you’re bullying him!"

He didn’t want to go, but he didn’t want the river of blood either. “I’ll do it.” Not when he could stop it.

"Will!" She turned on her fiancé. 

"Grab your coat I'll give you a ride." Victorious Jack turned to leave.

Will pulled on his shoes, rising to meet eyes with Alana and felt a swell of guilt flood through him. "You can't go Will you're sick."

"He's right Alana. We both know it. I might not like it, but there isn't anyone whole who can do what I do broken,” he leaned in to kiss her and caught her cheek, head turned in refusal of the offered affection. He pushed down the new stab of guilt and tried for a smile. "I'll come back as soon as I’m done."

"No,” she said, “you won't.” And the look she gave him was ice, “If you walk out that door, you don’t come back. Either you stay and get better or I'm taking off this ring." She announced the ultimatum. 

He felt his chest squeeze. "Alana-"

"Six, Will, and the gaps between victims have been shrinking."

"I-" He looked at her, the woman he loved more than anything and thought of the innocent lives he could save, the deaths he would have to live with knowing belonged to him if he chose Alana over looking at death, the right choice and the selfish one.

"I'll take my car."

OoOoO

"It's a match Jack." Beverly announced, face straight despite the obvious pain in her voice, she didn’t want to believe it, but science didn’t lie. "The hair belongs to Will."

Silence filled the room like a dense fog, choking the voices from all. 

"I'll speak with Alana." Hannibal was the first to breach the silence, a light house encouraging all back to shore. It didn’t matter that Will had been their friend; they had a job to do. "I have known her for many years." He looked to Jack, "I think she might handle the news better from a friend."

OoOoO

"You two going to be alright?" Jack asked as he held police tape overhead to be ducked. 

Will slipped under and walked toward the newest body. He didn't know it’s gender, wasn't sure if anyone knew, it had been charred to little more than bones. It’s blackened body falling through the thick wire that had once held hands clasped in prayer. "Does it matter Jack?" He fired back, "if you cared about that you wouldn't have bullied me into this." He stopped before the body, police and forensic milling about the display.

It could have been a statue, carved from charcoal and onyx, black as night and void of life. 

"You can still walk away from this no one is forcing you to stay." He said, washing his hands from the damage he had caused Will and Alana.

"And do what?" Price handed him a pair of gloves and Will slipped them on, carefully circling the body. With most of it burned away there wasn't much left to see. Not of the flesh at least. "Do you want me to go back? You heard her Jack, I can't. If I'm lucky I'll see her at my appointment on Monday, maybe we can talk then." He turned on him, "or do you mean not helping and being guilty by proxy for the next sting of deaths to happen while I'm out of commission?"

Jack didn't answer, instead looking from Will to the body behind him. "What can you tell me?"

He sighed, lifting his glasses to rub overtired eyes before returning to the body. "Can you clear out a few of the people for a couple of minutes?" It was always hard to look, even harder to come back. 

Some days he just didn't want to.

"Everyone take five." Jack bellowed, gaining the attention of all present, "clear the field."

A freak show, always had been, always would be.

He closed his eyes and let the pendulum swing. 

 

"He's cleansing them.” Will announced, opening his eyes to stare at a victim he had doused in gasoline to burn alive only moments before, “Removing their sins with 'hells fire'. We already know he's using sinners," Will offered as he came back from the darkness, stepping away from the blood soaked corners of his mind that always urged him to step a little further into the shadows every time he looked. He feared the day he looked and didn't come back. 

Jack raised a brow, "turning them into angels isn't good enough?"

"You can’t turn a sinner into an angel," Will explained trying to rub some of the memory from his eyes, "they need to be cleansed. So that's what he's doing, he’s cleansing them with fire to free them of their sins so they can be angels."

"And he's using 'Adam's Amazing Propane' to do it." Zeller offered as he stepped closer with a tagged bag in hand, the small squeeze bottle of propane zipped safe inside. 

Will took one look at the bottle and knew the brand. "Adam's only sold at Town and Country gas."

The random fact earned him a look from both men, "You sure?" Jack asked at the unexpected knowledge.

He shrugged, "There's a TV in the local dinner, I got to hear about it during one of my coffee runs."

It was good enough for Jack, "I'll see about getting a warrant for the video surveillance. In the meantime I want you to drive to the local Town and Country gas stops and see if any of the cashiers remembers selling Adam's over the past week."

"Sure,” it wasn’t as though Alana was about to let him back in, “Let me know when you get the surveillance footage, I’ll help look it over." Adjusting his glasses he started toward his car.

"Will," he glanced back to Jack, concern knitting his brows together as he looked at the profiler. "You are you good for this?" Will smiled, weak and bitter before walking away.

"Does it matter?"

OoOoO

A quick check in at home provided Hannibal reassurance that his Adam was still sound asleep, bowl empty by his bed. He knelt by him, pressed the back of his hand to the slumbering man’s cheek to feel the heat emanating from his flesh. He was still running hot. The returning spike of fever flushed his skin a warm pink stretching over his nose and down his neck and chest. It was reason enough for concern and had Hannibal retrieving his medical bag.

He slipped a thermometer beneath the sleeping man’s tongue and admired the calm that claimed his features in sleep. “Do you dream of hell fire when you sleep?” He combed fingers through soft curls and smiled, “Do you walk through the nightmares of Will’s mind and smile at the lesser creatures when they approach?” He pulled the thin glass tube from between his lips and kissed the lax mouth, lips gently parted against his own. “I wonder if Will would fear you as one fears the boogieman were you to meet, fear the personification of his own inner darkness.” 

He checked the thermometer with a thoughtful hum and selected a syringe from his bag, “You devour the death he feared with a disquisitive hunger and within you it grows.” He slipped the needles tip into a vile and pulled the plunger, filling the syringe, “You’re fever is proving to be relentless, what I’m about to give you is an injection of non-steroid anti-inflammatory drug.” He whipped alcohol over the inner flesh of his elbow, “It will significantly reduce your fever, though for how long I cannot be certain. If you’re suffering from an infection it is only a matter of time before the fire within you returns.” Meaning he may still require a CT scan. “We’ll have to wait and see.” He pressed the needle beneath his skin and pushed the plunger to flood his veins with cold.

“Sleep well, I’ll be home shortly.” He kissed the small swell of blood that pooled where the needle had pricked, tasted his Adam against his lips, and covered the prick with a bandaid. 

OoOoO

Will entered his third station and counted himself lucky when he noted there was only one other patron other than himself browsing the shelves, it was always easier when the store was empty, or in this case mostly empty. If he was lucky the manager would be in and he would have a relatively smooth interview before moving onto the next station. 

He stepped up to the counter and took note of the girl working the cash, young and pretty. He guessed by looking at her that she must have been starting collage, probably using the pay for cheap accommodations while studying one course or another. He hoped she did well, "Excuse me, would your manager be available?" 

"Something the matter?" She smiled, trying for her best customer service look and Will hoped not to ruin her day, he slipped his badge from his pocket and watched the color drain from her face as she her thoughts suddenly running through anything she might have done the past few days to bring a federal officer upon her. 

"I'm Special Agent Will Graham of the FBI, I just need to ask the manager a few questions.” He tried for a reassuring smile and hoped he wasn’t too tired to pull it off. He saw his reflection in the glass of a firework case behind the counter and stopped smiling. He looked more dead than alive and anything but reassuring. “Are they available?" She nodded without a word and locked the register before stepping away from the counter and through a door to the back. 

A moment of privacy granted Will fished a bottle of aspirin from his pocket and dry swallowed two pills. His head was killing him, not that the pain was anything when compared to the overwhelming guilt devouring his insides. The fight had been lose-lose, no matter what he’d picked someone was going to suffer. Alana loved him, was trying to protect him and Jack needed him to save people, he’d manipulated him to save lives. 

Because saving people because it was the right thing to do.

It was the last coherent thought Will Graham had before his head collided with the counter, his sight landing on the cheery blue and red bottle of Adam's Amazing Propane before the world fell away and he was consumed by darkness.

OoOoO

Adam was suffering from an infection, one that would no doubt kill him if left to fester much longer. This posed a new question for Hannibal, one he needed time to consider all the reigning consequences of before he decided to act.

Did he cure Adam’s fever or did he leave it? Curing the aliment would of course save him, prolonging his life. However, it also ran the risk of ‘curing’ Will. If the infection was the trigger anchoring Adam and keeping Will at bay then he would inevitably lose his angel. If he were to see to Adam’s treatment himself he would be able to influence his recovery, a blend of chemicals and unethical therapy to keep his angel with him, prevent the return of Will Graham.

He turned down a quiet suburban street and smiled as he pulled in to Alana’s driveway. Even if he was to fail and Adam merged with Will, he wouldn’t really lose him. Adam would always exist somewhere within the profiler’s mind and Will had nowhere else to go, no one left to turn to, no one but Hannibal. 

Not anymore.

OoOoO

‘Where am I?’ His mind was foggy, his head hurt and he was cold. ‘What happened?’ His fingers twitched with some effort and he felt the damp soil beneath their pads, the twist of grass and gravel under his nails. ‘Not dead then.’

He forced open his eyes and was consumed by darkness and light, a thousand pinpricks of white dancing through the veil of night. He could see a red glow from where he lay in the earth, the ground lower beneath him than where it raised along his sides, meaning he’d woken up in a ditch. He followed the curve of the ditch to the red glow of a tail light and the silhouette of a man digging through the trunk.

‘Angel Maker’, he thought and knew, knew this man was going to kill him, was gathering twin and cored and gasoline to turn him into an angel and burn him to little more than ash.

His breath caught in his throat with the sudden realization, heart hammering, threatening to burst from his chest as fear consumed him where he lay watching the killer, his killer, gather supplies for his murder.

He tried to remember how he’d gotten there, his name, his age anything about himself to no avail. He knew nothing of himself, nothing at all. But he knew this man, this killer. Knew him like a lover. 

He would bind his hands into prayer, force his body to kneel and keep it there like a statue with wire and twine, he would peel the flesh from his back and bracket it into wings and then he would douse him in Adam’s Amazing Propane and burn the flesh from his bones alive, the sins from his soul as he screamed himself to death.

He swallowed back the fear that threatened to consume him, made his limbs shake and heart scream and tried to think. But all he could see was blood, fire and his won death. 

He didn’t want to die, he wasn’t ready to die, he wanted to live.

From the void of his mind darkness reached for him, an offer of life and salvation in the form of long taloned fingers craved from onyx and eyes the color of blood. An extension of himself, one locked away behind the iron bars of a cage, but one that could save him. He took the hand.

There was the breaking of iron and soul within as the monster crouching deep inside was at last freed.

His heart slowed the shaking ceased and he watched the figure approach, a length of rope in hand. He tested his fingers again, shifted them in the dirt and felt the smooth coolness of glass against his palm, a curved piece of broken bottle he gripped as one might a knife and smiled like a demon when the killer moved closer, leaned down to gather his hands for prayer. “Good morning,” he greeted and drove the length of green bottle glass into his jugular.

It was the birth of a monster.

OoOoO

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are telling Hannibal to stop being a big bag of dicks, your comments are cuddling with Adam in bed.


	8. Encephalitis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has a conversation with Alana.
> 
> Things progress with Adam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!!!!
> 
> So for anyone who didn't know I had disappeared for National November Writing Month~<3 Sorry for the last minute hiatus guys, but I'm back now!! Whoo!
> 
> If this isn't as good as it could be I apologize, there is a completely different mind set between writing your own story and writing fanfiction so this is me trying to get back into the swing of things. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy as always thanks for reading~<3
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Not beta read.

Adam 08

“Alana, I’m afraid I have some bad news.” He waited until the beautiful woman was seated, dressed down in a casual pull over and jeans she had obviously intended for a day in out of the cold, a steaming cup of coffee on her side table evidence of his assumption.

“Did they find Will?” Because a body was better than nothing, closure better then wondering if they were trapped and waiting for rescue.

He would always relish the strength he found in her. “No, though we now have confirmation that he is alive.” There was only a moment of fleeting hope before she stilled as a mouse might before a snake. She knew the blow that was coming.

“You think he’s the killer.” She said and he could have applauded her intuition.

“We found evidence supporting he is responsible for two accounts of murder.” The barest tremors began to shake her and he watched her step into the first stage of grief, denial.

“No, Will isn’t a killer. He’s a good man, he would never hurt anyone.” The oceans of her eyes began to shimmer with the swell of tears, voice began to quake with the rejection of truth.

He took her hand in his and softened his features in a soothing gesture, “We’ve identified the Angel Maker as Elliot Buddhish, Will’s clothes were found in the trunk of his car. Mr. Buddhish was found displayed as one of his angels in the ditch next to it.” He squeezed her hand when the shaking in her fingers grew, a tremor quaking her shoulders as he continued, “this morning another body was discovered, a replica of the Chesapeake Ripper’s Wound Man displayed in a dog park. Will’s fingerprints were found on the knives.”

A sob, quiet, almost a hiccup from her full lips as she bowed her head and cried. It was easy to comfort her, offer himself as a shoulder for the missing man’s fiancée to cry on. “I’m sorry Alana, truly I am, if there is anything at all I can do to help, please, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“He can’t be a killer Hannibal, he can’t,” she hiccupped into his shoulder, soaking the fabric of his jacket in mascara and tears, “he would never hurt anyone, he hated what he did, having to look he didn’t want to go.”

“But Jack made him. You said he bullied Will into it.” And with that the second stage was found, denial to anger, she turned glossy eyes to face him and sniffed. “You told me before that an ultimatum had been offered. Jack pressured him to go.”

“He knew Will was sick and harassed him into going. Will had declined and Jack bullied him until he relented.” The gears of her graceful mind began to turn and she pulled from his arms, released her friend to search the door of her side table, pulling from the small wooden piece a red phonebook. She began flipping though the pages, “Will is innocent, he’s been suffering a fever for an extended period of time, hallucinations; he was scheduled for a CT scan Monday.”

Hannibal raised a brow as though in question, “You’re going to press charges against Jack?”

“I’m going to build a law suit against him and take him to the board.” She turned to him, eyes shining bright with the ruminants of tears, “He ruined Will’s life. I need to repair as much of it as I can.”

“I agree.” Because he was curious, “you have my full support in this endeavour,” She smiled at him, a lamb blind to the wolf who stood before her in sheep’s clothing.

“Thank you Hannibal,” she looked to the book again, the numbers scrawled in neat penmanship inside, looks Hannibal was more than familiar with from his time as the woman’s mentor. “I’m just going to call my lawyer, see if I can make a case, what they can do to help, what I need.”

He looked at the name, recognized it, a respected attorney but not nearly as good as his own. “If I might recommend a lawyer, I could get you an appointment with my own, Harvey Specter. He’s never lost a case.”

She looked at him, “Never?”

He smiled, taking the phone easily from her hand, “Never.”

OoOoO

It was late afternoon when he returned home, mild concern for Adam’s waking at last drawing him away from the rueful woman so interestingly plotting Jack’s end. Another move in the game he was playing toward checkmate.

When he returned the house when quiet, lights off to fill the rooms with long evening drawn shadows he broke with the switch of the light, illuminating his kingdom as he slipped off his shoes, hung his coat and made his way upstairs to greet Adam.

However, ire touched him when he found his bedding dishevelled and room empty of that which he sought. If this were to become habit he would have to bring a few of the restraints from the basement upstairs and bind the man to his bed.

He approached the bed, running his hand over the mound of dishevelled covers to feel the lingering body heat on rich bed sheets. It was still warm, very warm; he hadn’t been gone for long.

But with the main floor of the house in darkness upon his arrival and no sign of the man’s presence there, it only left the upper floor for his guest to have climbed to. He was fine the man’s exploration; it was his disappearance that he found troublesome.

A creek of floorboard called his attention at once, the sounds out of place in his quiet home and he made haste to find it, moving on silent feet down the hall to the second flight of stairs and the man who climbed them. “Adam,” he gained no response from the languid moving body, each step taking with slow clumsy feet as he scaled to the third storey.

He would have thought the man already on the upper level by now. Curious, Hannibal followed, “Adam, where are you going?”

He continued to ignore the predator who followed at his heal, his focus entirely upon the shadow he followed through the house, a specter only he could see. Hannibal walked with him in stride, examined his glassy half-mast eyes and the soft part of lips. It came to him then that his Adam was sleepwalking, roaming his house to follow a dream through its corridors.

Another thought formed in the killer’s keen mind, a moment to see how much of the man was truly left stirring inside, if he wouldn’t answer to Adam, “William Graham?”

The footfalls stopped, silence continued and for a moment nothing happened. Had he not been listening, had he not been born with the keen hearing of a predator, Hannibal might have missed the broken, murmured, almost drunken words that slipped his angels lips, “Will…” a simple correction, as though by instinct, a reflex to correct to his preferred name.

The FBI profiler was still in there, buried beneath Adam, but waiting to return all the same.

“Will,” he corrected himself and the silent walking continued. The padding of drunken footsteps over stairs and through his hall toward the window, “What are you following?”

“Stag…” Another whisper of vowels and syllables before he stepped into the window and stopped, falling back onto his ass with a yelp as he startled himself awake. He blinked at the softly glowing reds and gold’s of the evening twilight through the hall’s grand window. “Hannibal?” He asked turning to face the man at his back.

“Adam,” The doctor smiled at the return of his beloved Adam, his waking mind returning the searching profiler to the depths which he belonged. “You were sleepwalking.” He explained, offering a hand to help him to his feet.

“And you let me walk into a wall?” He corked a brow and earned another smile.

“I thought it best to allow you to finish your course, how are you feeling?” He touched his forehead and cheeks, letting the relentless heat of his fever warm his fingers. He was pale, flesh colored by the heat of his sickness rather than health.

Adam snorted, turning into the hand that touched him to kiss his palm. “You drugged me too.” He turned accusing stormy eyes to the killer once more, less love revealed in their depths for his deceit.

“The police are looking for you, I didn’t want you feeling inspired and taking another walk.” A non-committal hum was Hannibal’s answer to the explanation of his actions, another habit of his own being picked up by the malleable man. He wondered how many of those habits would remain should Will awaken.

_When Will awakens._

It was becoming more and more apparent that it was not so much a matter of _if_ but _when_.

A thought Hannibal wasn't sure he wanted to contemplate and knew he must if he wished to keep the creature before him at all. He needed to be treated if he was going to keep the man for longer than a fortnight. The fever burning his mind would eventually consume him if he left it to continue the way it was.

"So you drugged me to keep me here, and left me to walk into a wall out of curiosity to see where I was going and what I would do?" He accused more accurately, earning a broader smile from the older man.

"I'm afraid you've caught me. I had thought you would stop or turn. Had I realize your final destination would be the window I would have stopped you." That admittance Adam found more honesty within, leaning in to kiss the man at last and enjoy the press of lips against his own from a lover both caring and controlling.

He opened his eyes and was sitting at the dining room table.

Delicate curls of meat decorated his plate, a disc of fine china, drizzled with a red reduction sauce of some kind to adore the protein; crisp steamed vegetables to their side. Though Adam was sure the flavors would all meld wonderfully on his pallet as all the meals he'd partaken of before at Hannibal's hands had balanced so perfectly, he couldn’t recall getting there. To that table, to his seat, having dinner set before him, having Hannibal talk to him while preparing their meal.

His plate was even missing a few choice bites, his tongue holding the lingering taste of smoky steak and zingy pomegranate.

It made him want to vomit.

Adam stared in utter confusion at the assortment of partly eaten food and tall glass of half drunken water at his side. No wine for him tonight it seemed, most likely thanks to his fever. "Is something the matter Adam?"

"Did you drug me again?" He asked, setting down his knife and fork to touch his head as though to feel the heat of his own boiling mind.

"No." He took in the disturbed man across from him, "What's wrong?" Setting his own knife and fork Hannibal stepped around the table to once again feel the temperature of his lover. Though he seemed to be no warmer than before their meal had begun his Adam seemed to be especially bewildered.

Brow furrowed, stormy eyes searched for answers within himself as he looked at Hannibal's tie, "I don't remember coming downstairs. I don't remember anything after the kiss we shared when I woke up."

He found that concerning, "It's been two hours since then." He told the man beneath his hand, watching as fear unfamiliar to this being began to flood his eyes. The memory of his old self had been one thing to lose; to cut free for him to begin anew, but to lose his new self too, forget his life until nothing but an existing husk remained. It scared Adam in a way he hadn’t thought himself capable of.

Hannibal didn't like that.

"I will make an appointment for you to see a doctor in the morning." He told the fearful man, combing back the locks of curls from his face as one might a child, pressing lips to his forehead in a silent reassurance he had seen countless mothers give their sons when weeping was involved. "I will not leave you to drown in the confines of your own mind."

_Drown...as he'd tried to drown Will..._

"I know my name.” He admitted, gaining look of milk surprise from his lover whose brow rose minutely at the comment, “Who I used to be." He recalled the man who'd scratched the flesh from his hand as he held him beneath the river of their mind. He'd been trying to kill him, to end the part of him determined to wake.

Perhaps his survival had forced his mind to begin rejecting Adam as well; if Will could not exist then neither would Adam.

It was a game he couldn’t afford to lose, one he was willing to cheat to win.

“When did you remember this?” He asked, coaxing stormy eyes to meet his own. It was never easy though, the man hating eye contact as much as his true self.

“Not long ago.” He didn’t feel like describing his dreams to the curious psychiatrist, he would take far too much from a simple dream of death and disorder. Understand more than Adam was looking to understand himself.

“I would have liked to know.” He told him, but was not angry; it didn’t appear that Adam had been hiding his discovery from him. He wasn’t ashamed that he had recalled the small step towards the profilers awakening; only that it was something he didn’t wish to talk about.

Many truths could be denied so long as they weren’t spoken. Words gave power and life to unwanted situations, circumstances one could pretend weren’t real or problematic until forced to face them. He didn’t want to face the possibility of disappearing and becoming Will Graham again.

“It didn’t cross my mind to tell you.” He shrugged, letting the doctor tug him to his feet, “I wasn’t trying to hide it if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Not at all, I would simply like to know what you discover about yourself in the future.” He kissed the hand he held before leading the man away to his study. Dinner would be left to cool and ruin, but his Adam was more important than the efforts of a meal. He could always make them something later if they found themselves hungry for more.

He walked them to his study, his favored for sketching and work thanks to the large bay window and ample natural light. “Where are we going?”

Adam was still learning the layout of the large house, the home easy for the amnesiac to lose himself within. “To one of my studies,” He informed the slighter man, opening a door at the halls end for Adam to step through. Unlike the other studies that held books, hearths and grand windows, this one included a large dark hardwood desk and leather chair.

“What about dinner?” Adam knew the man was proud of his culinary, didn’t care to waste his efforts, he didn’t want to ruin the man’s dinner on himself.

“I’ll make us something fresh in a bit. For now, I have an exercise I’d like you to try.” He pulled out the desk chair, urging the man to sit before pushing the seat in and laying a pen and thick piece of stationary before him. “I would like you to draw me a clock please, one to twelve on its face.”

Brow furrowed at the odd request he looked back at his lover before accepting the pen. “I don’t understand, what is this going to accomplish?”

“There has been an alluring scent of spicy heat about you since we’ve met. An unusual, though pleasant, odor to find on another man when not wearing any particular cologne,” he urged him to place pen to paper. “I had thought it might have been associated to your fever upon discovering you were sick. But that seemed unlikely, of my experience with numerous hospital patients in the past I have never encountered that particular scent of heat and spice upon anyone else.”

He watched the hand draw a quick circle, one solid line creating the clock, “So there is something more to your illness than simply a flu or cold. But if we add your fever to the hallucinations,” his Adam’s hand stilled, unwilling to admit to the monster behind him that he had been seeing things beyond his imagination. “And now the lost time,” he squeezed his Angel’s shoulder, reassurance to continue. As the pen fell and the he at last he understood.

The extended amnesia, the fever and lost time, the hallucinations and what was yet to come. He watched as a shower of numbers fell down the clocks face, pooling at the side and base where it’s needles pointed as lost in their time as William within his mind.

“I believe you may be suffering from encephalitis.”

OoOoO

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!
> 
> Your kudos are plotting ways to get Jack fired, your comments are thinking of how to sneak Adam into the hospital for a brain scan.


	9. Looking Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will follows Adam home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> Sorry for the delay, now that I'm editing the my novel it's making writing that much slower. I'm writing and editing a number of fanfic's working on my novel and to be honest I only have so many hours in one day to be doing it, so you'll have to forgive me. ;n;
> 
> Thank said, I bring you chapter 9!!!
> 
> Mild warning of dub-con in this chapter so if that sort of thing upsets you please skip it, or the story. If you want further explanation in regards to that before reading check the end notes and I'll explain the emotional part behind this particular scene. Also if you just want to skip the bathroom scene you can read right up until then and just skip the sex entirely. C:
> 
> Alright, onto the story!
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Not Beta Read!

A scream tore through the house like a knife into flesh.  It was raw and piercing and tasting of copper, his throat tearing from the noise he produced as he filled the night with the sound of true terror.  
  
Adam was shaking, body soaked in a layer of thin icy sweat as he sucked back one shaky breath after another, "Adam," broad hands slid over his shoulders to sooth, they were warm and steady in all he ways killer and lover could be.    
  
Hannibal didn't know fear, didn't know much feeling beyond the trickle of emotion that occasionally found his vast desert.  But Adam knew it; he knew the cold claws of terror as intimately as a lover.  Stormy yes flashed frantic as he sat where he’d bolted upright in bed, searching the darkness as Hannibal worked to bring him back to the present, to their bedroom in Baltimore and the mattress they sat upon.  Let the nightmare fall away and the man who had grappled with him until he held Adam beneath the water to drown dissolve from his mind.  
  
But they didn't.    
  
With every blink of eyes he saw the man leaning over him, snarling, demanding he die, disappear, return his body to him, every slid of eyelids casting darkness one moment creating a world of terror for Will Graham to rise again and hold him beneath the water’s surface.  
  
"Adam, you are fine.  It was only a dream."  The doctor soothed, brushing fingers through thick damp as he had once done to his dogs.  
  
His dogs...  
  
A pack of seven, strays, he knew, racing up to him to adore him with kisses and affection and unconditional love.  Tails wagging as they eagerly greeted him wanting nothing more than what the empath could supply.   
  
One of them he loved most of all.  
  
Always there when he needed him most...but what was his name?  
  
"The dreams don't stop."  He argued, pushing away memories that had no right sitting at the front of his mind.  He liked dogs, loved dogs, but that didn't mean he wanted a life in which they were his only company.  That wasn't the life he wanted, that wasn't the man Adam wanted to be.  "They never stop!"  Fingers buried in his hair he gripped the long curls at their root, tugging in his frustration as the man beside him continued to rub circles.  
  
In the week since Hannibal had discover Adam’s night time escapades he had begun a stream of seemingly endless night terrors, the amnesiac rousing the doctor with bone chilling screams in the middle of the night.  Insomnia had begun to claim Adam since, the younger man sleeping only a few scant hours before finding himself up for the remainder of the night and day.  Sickly night sweats now stained the soft fabric of silk and satin sheets most nights, the ex-profilers night clothes seemingly ruined by the icy sweats that claimed him as he was brought to consciousness with sheet ripping dreams again and again.  
  
One night out of seven his angel had managed to claim a full night’s sleep, but it had been at the expense of the killers.  He had to walking the halls one evening in a fit of sleep walking and the Ripper had taken it upon himself to follow him throughout the home, adjusting his lover’s route to keep the man from ending his journey early and rousing himself in an abrupt fall as he had the week before.   
  
Assumable, his angel was following the same specter Hannibal more frequently caught him watching during the day.  His Adam's eyes following seemingly nothing as they looked just over his shoulder or his brow furrowing as he watched nothing through a door into the hallway.  His angel now focused on the illusions of his mind instead of settling on him; his ear, his tie, his mouth.  Him.  
  
Hannibal was greedy for those eyes upon him and curious of what they focused upon when they were not.  
  
"They will stop.  We will make them stop."  He hushed, pressing his mouth to the salt dampened skin of his temple.  Silent, Adam nodded; a weak bob of his head as he took in the doctors grounding words and tried to feel reassured by their promise.  He had trusted the man so far to care for him and keep him safe and despite the drugs he had done just that.    
  
He was safe. He was safe and Hannibal was with him.   
  
He was not with Will.  
  
"Leave."  He looked up, eyes flashing to something new, something that hadn't followed him home before.  
  
It had only ever been the stag, the sound of hooves echoing through the vast hallways, the plumage of ebony feathers amongst an onyx pelt, the towering crown of antlers pointed sharp and stained with old blood.  It had only ever been the stag before.  
  
Never Will Graham.  
  
He stood in the corner of the room, his clothing soaked, sticking to the outline of a too thin frame, his mouth set in a flat line, eyes darkened by the hatred they held for the man who sat in the arms of the Ripper.  "You don't belong here."  
  
"No!"  He refused to leave, refused to relinquish the body he had fought so hard to keep night and night again, grabbing the lap at his bedside he hurled it across the room, shattering the crystal piece against the wall where his other self stood.  
  
"ADAM!"  Powerful hands took his face with a strength Adam all too often forgot, the killer by his side forcing his eyes to focus on him, to draw away from the torment standing across the room.  They flickered still, those beautiful, horrified blue grey eyes, flashing from deep maroon to the corner filled with broken glass.  He slid a thumb beneath one eye, wishing he could pluck it free from its socket and see as Adam saw.  "Tell me what you are seeing."  
  
He swallowed, his tongue suddenly feeling too big for his mouth.  It was the first time he hadn't wanted to admit something to Hannibal.  A truth he wanted to hide.    
  
That he might be disappearing.  
  
Like a lover trying to hide their terminal illness, he didn't want to admit that Will might be slipping back.   
  
He'd been remembering things.  
  
"When's my appointment?"  He forced his tongue, a useless thing, to form the words.  He needed it done.  He needed to see what was making him sick and know if erasing the sickness would erase Will with it, or bring him back.  
  
When he had first woken, first come to life in a world of darkness, fire, blood and stars, he had been free.  He had lived without conscious or guilt or any desire other than his own and he had enjoyed it.  Adam had eaten well during those short few days of peace within himself, rested in a way his body knew, even if he couldn't remember, he had not rested in months, maybe years, and dreamed of murders not his own.  
  
Murders that made his blood run hot and surge with power when recalled beneath his hands.    
  
Murders by the Ripper, the Angel Maker, the Mushroom Man, the Cradler and Buffalo Bill.   
  
He had realized during those nights of death that the memories of blood were only the beginning, only the first to return to him, they would not be the last.  First he recalled the killings, than he remembered their names.  All while dreaming, things he did not recognize or understand.    
  
One of the more prominent memories was of a pack of dogs, strays, he knew, racing up to him with adoration, messy kisses, and unconditional love; wanting nothing more than the love and attention of their master.  
  
One of them always there when he needed him...but what was his name?  
  
"I will have you in for a CT scan this morning.  But not until ten."  Hannibal reassured again, rubbing small soothing circles into his back.  It wasn't the warm fur and wet noses he'd dreamed of, he wanted no, craved.  The more he thought of the pack he’d left behind the stronger his desire to find them become.  "Do you think you can go back to sleep this time?"  
  
"No."  Why lie, there was no reason or purpose for him to lie to Hannibal, the man would know when he finally fell asleep again, or in this case didn't.  "I haven't been able to the last few nights; I don’t see why tonight would be any different."  
  
A nod, simple and understanding, "Very well," He pulled back the covers, stepping out onto the chilled hardwood floor and toward the bathroom.  "Then perhaps we have time for an outing before daylight, something to take the monsters off your mind."  The weather was growing colder, the nights longer and the hour was still only early.  If he had a mark in mind they could be out and back in only a few short hours.  
  
"An outing?"  He trailed the man who waved him to follow into the ensuite.   
  
"A date."  He smiled.  
  
A similar curve of smile pulled his angel's lips, a sense of calm coming over him with the broad hands running over his shoulders and down his arms, catching the tail of his cotton shirt to pull overhead and kiss sweat soaked skin, "A hunt."  
  
"Precisely," He ran hands from shoulder to elbow, the motion soothing to the un-eased man standing before him.  Adam was still on edge, his eyes more wild in their avoidance during these times of anxious energy then when he was pleasantly calm.  Whatever he had seen in the corner and did not want to share had left him uncomfortable in the room around him and his very skin.  It gave Hannibal an inclination to what he might be seeing standing in their room.  
  
He would give him something else to focus on.    
  
He turned his Adam toward the bathroom mirror, watching his angel's face from over his shoulder as he avoided his reflection and the image of his own eyes.  "But first I'd like you to look, Adam."  
  
His angel worried his lip, chewing the thin skin as hands continued to fall over him, sliding the length of his body as they tugged boxers down his thighs to settle around ankles, the ex-profiler lifting his feet to step out of the garment as Hannibal tossed them away.  "Why do I need to look?"  He challenged, he didn't want to.  Wasn't feeling confident of whom he would see looking back at him through the looking glass, Alice was waiting on the other side for him now.  
  
"To regain your sense of self," He stood behind him once more and Adam saw claws skim his naked chest in the reflective glass instead of surgeon steady hands.  It was enough to make his heart skip a beat, to bring his pulse back to racing and have skittish eyes looking over his shoulder to the face of his stubble jawed lover, expression nearly non-existent in its minimalness as he meet eyes with Adam, still the same rich maroon, the same disheveled ashen hair, the same patient look of waiting for compliance he had seen countless times before.  "Please look."  
  
He didn't want to.    
  
Turning to face the mirror Adam kept his eyes on the hand that fell down his chest, long ebony claws skimming his flesh to settle on the swell of his hip as he continued to avoid the mirrors eyes.  His breath hitched when the unseen clawed appendage found the cleft of his ass, easing the mounds apart to touch one slicked finger to his opening.  He hadn't seen the man behind him slick the digits with the oil he preferred, but Adam could smell the sweet scent of jasmine all the same, feel the slick of oiled fingers push past his tight ring and into him.  
  
It made his breath catch in his throat, feet spreading wider to aid his lover and body leaning over the lip of the counter to better take him in as he felt the digit push further into him.  "Hannibal," He keened when the finger brushed against the bundle of nerves buried deep inside, a long stroke making his toes curl.  "Hannibal, please-"  
  
"Look Adam," He commanded, pressing a second finger into his tight opening, the hand that had held his hip steady before sliding up the toned flesh of his abdomen to wrap around his throat, pressing the younger man back against him as he took the third.  The hold forced his face to meet the mirror but it could not force his eyes.  Those he closed, breath panting as a fourth joined the third and he was stretched.  Hannibal loved to fill him in this way, to make him take too much too soon and force him to feel it as deep and intimate as possible.   
  
"I-" A sudden jerk deep with had his breath catching again, nails scraping the marble counter in search of perch.  
  
There was none to be found, but at least his mind was empty.  William no longer perched in the darkness of his skull.  He was given a reprieve from the profiler clawing his way back to the surface in this at least.  
  
He was made empty all too soon not a moment after, "It won't be me in the mirror."  He admitted at last, needing the return of Hannibal’s distraction to keep his mind free of that which plagued him.  There was almost a sense of relief at feeling the press of the doctor's mushroom head against his opening.  Hand still curled around his throat, finger and thumb balanced to keep his jaw in place, he still could not move to turn away from the mirror.  
  
"We will make it you," he reassured, a kiss far softer than his grip could imply pressed like a feather to Adam's cheek as thrust inside.  
  
The intrusion was sudden, the girth filling him entirely in one smooth motion all the way to his core, it had stormy eyes flying open and lips falling wide, and there was he.  Will Graham, staring back at him in the mirror, just as he knew he would be.  But there was something he hadn’t expected in his image of the profiler, he was afraid.  Afraid of the monster that held him tight against them, black marbled skin pressed to creamy pale and jagged claws gripping the curve of his jaw tight enough to bruise and make him look.  
  
Will was afraid of the monster filling him from behind, terrified of the beast made of darkness and death thrusting into his body while Adam reveled in it, his cock leaking pre at the sight of the merciless beast standing at his back, his towering crown of antlers reaching high enough to scrap plaster from the ceiling.   
  
This was a torture for William and a win for the angel born of his inner darkness.  He leaned back against the body of his lover, let the feeling of open cotton pajamas and plastic buttons against his back comfort him as he watched the man he wished to destroy twist in suffering in the looking glass before him.  If he could not kill the man within the realm of his dreams than he would allow the darkness of the killer he'd come to love break him for him.  "Hannibal," He moaned the name, rolling his hips to meet each thrust that filled him, drawing a guttural sound from the Ripper as he took him again, another deep moving thrust filling him with pleasure as his other self suffered.  
  
He hoped it would be enough to break him.  
  
The grip lessoned, hand falling from his throat to take his hip once more, hold Adam steady as he filled him over and over, a steady rhythm of deep moving thrusts holding him in place with an ocean of pleasure as he watched Will grip the counter, shoulders shaking, cock leaking and fear consuming.  
  
Adam looked back over his shoulder to meet eyes with his lover, they were blown with lust, dark and consuming, to leave little more than a ring of red around their iris, his thin lips parted with his own labored breaths as he chased his release.  To Adam’s surprise amongst the disheveled ashen locks a crown of antlers as dark as the beast that held William towered above him.  
  
It made his cock jump and body shudder with another wave crashing through him, a renewed strength and confidence returning to Adam as he found the key to Will's destruction, turning back to the mirror he watched the profiler disappear within the glass, retreating back within the confines of their mind shaken and disturbed.  
  
It was himself now he saw in the looking glass now, Adam staring back at him with quivering lips and keening moans as the beast thrust him full.    
  
He looked back over his shoulder to once again meet eyes with his lover and came, moaning out the killers name as he spilled his seed across the counter and felt Hannibal's own coat his insides in a hot spurt.   
  
They stood there in silence, each catching their breath for several long moments before Hannibal finally spoke, "Who is it now that you see within the mirror Adam?"  He asked, easing his softening cock from his lover’s overs tight heat, arms like steel keeping the younger man upright on shaking legs as he leaned back against the Rippers chest and let his head loll against a shoulder.  He looked down his nose at the mirror and the glimpsed the face of the furious profiler hidden inside.  "I see both me and him."  He admitted, turning in Hannibal's arms to steal a kiss, from the man who would help him destroy his other half, "but now I'm the one winning."  
  
OoOoO  
  
TBC  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are hanging Christmas decorations on Hannibal's antlers, your comments are jumping in and out of the looking glass.
> 
> EMOTIONAL EXPLANATION TIME
> 
> So, for anyone looking for further explanation on the second half of the chapter :
> 
> Will and Adam are one WHOLE, what Adam wants Will wants and what Will wants Adam wants but they both try to burry that part of themselves. 
> 
> SPOILER
> 
> Adam is concentual, and though this may have read a little rapey, that is not the case in this story. Will is not so much upset at the sexual aspect of what is going on as he's upset that it's a killer he's becoming so close to; that he feels safe, loved and in return loves back. He sees Hannibal as a monster instead of a man because of the violance of his nature, that he's too removed from society to be considered human, however he still wants him, still enjoyed it and that is what disturbs him. He is self loathing in how much he wants this, because Adam is the portion of himself that he hates, deny's and hides. 
> 
> I also had another writer read this chapter and give me their opinion before posting just to make sure I wasn't the only one seeing it this way. I hadn't told them a thing about how I wanted it to be perceived and they shot the same opinion back at me all on their own. So to anyone this chapter was too much for, I am sincerely sorry, that is not how it was meant to be perceived.
> 
> Thank you all for reading~<3


	10. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal takes Adam to the hospital. They run into someone unexpected upon their return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not forgotten this story. 
> 
> Nor have I forgotten any other story. 
> 
> Though I may go on seemingly random hiatuses on certain stories there's usually a reason why one fic or another has been put on a back burner. In the case of this one I was stuck at the hospital scene for-fucking-ever. It was HAAAARD for me to write, especially since I'm not American and the medical system there is really strange for me!
> 
> There are probably a bunch of mistakes regarding procedure and scans and crap in this chapter, please take them with a huge grain of salt. The choices were to push through being vague or not at all. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and checking back with the stories update, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and the chapter to come~<3
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Not Beta Read.

10

 

"Hannibal," Adam addressed as they drove to John Hopkins Hospital. "If I'm a wanted convict, how am I going to enter the hospital for a CT Scan without being arrested?"

 

"A wanted convict?" He glanced to the man sitting at his side, Adam was dressed casual today, jeans and a button up they had both agreed on. The denim being Adam’s choice and the button up Hannibal’s. That morning Adam had shaved, a choice that could have been either of theirs – a reflection of Hannibal’s desire or an honest preference of Adam’s – neither of them knew. "Why would you think that Adam?"

 

"Because I'm not an idiot." He said. He wasn’t looking at him, storm colored eyes focused on the road ahead of them. Adam knew the truth, he knew what Hannibal had done to him, how he had begun building the walls of a cage around him. He wasn't mad. Adam had come to expect that from the lonely monster who feared – even if he had yet to recognize that fear in himself – losing the one who had come to both understand and accept him. "You trapped me Hannibal. You gave my scent to the hounds and now I’d like to know how you plan to save me with everyone looking.”

 

"The man with the dog." He said with the edge of a smile, the barest pull of lips, and glanced to the brilliant mind at his side. There was no malice there. Adam was curious. He wanted to know Hannibal's plan and at the same time he trusted him not to feed him to the dogs.

If Hannibal were to be honest, he had never intended for Adam to leave the house – not without careful co-ordination and care. He had believed that for the vast majority of the ailments that could plague Adam this early on in their relationship, he alone would be enough to treat him.

 

But Hannibal didn't own a CT Scanner and he needed confirmation of the infection before he began treatment, less he treats the wrong disease and lose Will and Adam entirely.

 

"You only touched one knife." Adam went on, "Selected it with two fingers to press into _my_ hand.” The knife he had directed to the heart, “It was all too easy for you to remove your one set of fingerprints before displaying the body.” Adam didn’t look at his lovers face when he accused him, he doesn’t need to. He could almost feel the pride coming off him. Hannibal was pleased that Adam could read him so easily, that he was cleaver enough to discern his plan. “You're trapping me Hannibal. You're making sure I can’t escape. No one to turn to and no where to go. I can never leave you because you are all I have left in the world."

 

Adam turned to him at last, lovely blue grey eyes focused on him with all the intensity of a typhoon. "I stay because I want to Hannibal. Not because you are my keeper.” Bowed lips curved into a smile and it could have been a promise or a threat. "You will never own me Hannibal. No matter how many forts you build around me or how many ropes you use to tether me to the shores. If I don't want to be with you, I can and will disappear."

 

More dangerous words could not have been spoken.

 

Hannibal stilled, no emotion to be read from the beast who worked to trap him, blood colored eyes focused on the road before them. Adam might have missed it, the clench of fingers on the steering wheel, whitening knuckles hidden beneath the stretch of lamb-leather gloves, but he was watching his monster and he saw him shift. Noticed the tension in his being, the nearly non-existent reaction to his news of no-control. "I use to be a surgeon for John Hopkins,” Hannibal explained changing the subject, “a friend of mine owes me a favor. I will acquire a wheel chair and bring you a medical mask. You will keep your head down and avoid looking at the security guards and cameras. I believe this procedure will be conducted with little issue."

 

Adam didn't miss the change in either demeanor or conversation. Hannibal didn't like losing control. He didn't like being told that there was nothing he could do about it. Hannibal was the kind of man who would cut hamstrings and then make his victim believe they had done it to themselves. He would do whatever it took to keep what he wanted and he was resourceful enough to do it.

 

Adam had just stepped out onto thin ice and he hadn't even heard the surface crack.

 

"I love you Hannibal." He said, even as he felt the surface splinter more. It earned another look from the monster pretending to be a man, keen mind calculating the words being spoken. Adam continued, "I want you to understand that I stay with you because I _want_ to be with you, not because you force me.” He reached out, touched the hand that had held tight the steering wheel, “I’m not warning you that one day I'm going to leave. I’m telling you that though I could, I choose stay." He squeezed the hand and saw Hannibal ease. "I want to be with you and to be desired by you in return."

 

Hannibal relaxed, the stillness that had taken him passing like a breath to bring the slight of life back into the marble chiseled beast. "Thank you." Though the threat of Adam’s ability to leave was still a loss of control Hannibal would need to regain, he would relax for the time being.

 

Satisfied that the danger had passed Adam brought the conversation back to topic, "What about medical records? Identification?" He leaned back in his seat sight falling to focus on the doctors tie. "They'll want to know if I have insurance."

 

Hannibal signaled and turned into the hospital parking lot. "Your name is Adam Smith and you have no medical insurance.” He explained, “you are paying for the procedure entirely with cash and my associate is going to assist us in this with little question."

 

Adam almost laughed, "You're not paying the hospital. You're paying your friend directly." The slight pull of lips was enough answer for Adam. "Alright, what about ID? Will your friend treat me without any identification?"

 

"I've had a number of false documents procured since you began staying with me." He produced his wallet, slipping several cards from a leather pocket to present to the confused man at his side. "During one of your evening walks I combed your hair and took a picture. I believe these should do well enough to get you through security if we're stopped."

 

Adam looked at the cards presented. He wasn't sure if the picture made him look disinterested or if he looked stoned. Either way it was better than nothing and he slipped the cards into his pocket before following Hannibal out of the car.

 

 **It was easier to slip past the front desk and security than Adam had expected. Hannibal’s old contact** with the hospital from his years as a surgeon aided them nicely in having Adam’s needs seen to with little inquiry or fuss.

 

It was less than ten minutes before Hannibal had Adam seated in a wheel chair and was wheeling him down the hospital hallway. "It can't be this easy." Adam said in disbelief. “What were you saying to those people?” The workers he had made polite conversation with before easily maneuvering Adam through the hospital as though he were an expected and regular patient.

 

"Everything can be done with the right connection." He assured stopping next to an office to knock on the door. Adam had expected to be brought to one of the CT labs not an office, But the door opened soon after the knock and a smiling man on its other side stepped out of the way to let the pair come inside. "Dr. Sutcliffe,” Hannibal greets, “it’s been some time. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

 

The doctor welcomed them through the door with a smile. Head down, Adam remained seated and silent, watching the pair as they spoke. He was slouching, head down to keep as much of his face from the cameras as he could, with his arms wrapped around his midsection he looked no more different than any number of patients who entered and left the hospital daily who suffered from nausea or abdominal pain.

 

“I wasn’t about to deny an old colleague a personal request.” Sutcliffe laughed. Even with his head down and attention cast to his lap Adam noticed the thick envelop slid from one man’s jacket into the others.

 

Everyone had a price.

 

“This is Adam,” Hannibal’s hand touched his shoulder, “the cousin I told you.” He said introducing the third occupant of the room. “Adam, this is Dr. Donald Sutcliffe.” Grey blue eyes peered from beneath a curtain of dark bangs to the doctor smiling at him in greeting. He didn’t say a word, instead keeping his head down as instructed by his partner, leaving Hannibal to complete the introduction.

 

“He’s awfully quiet.” Sutcliffe commented turning his attention back to Hannibal.

 

“I believe Adam is suffering from encephalitis,” Hannibal squeezed his shoulder with reassurance, “if the fever is spiking again he may not be feeling well.”

 

The comment caught Sutcliffe’s attention, “Encephalitis? An odd diagnosis. What brought you to that conclusion?”

 

“I asked him to draw me a clock.” He runs his hand up the back of Adam’s neck, combs his fingers into the tale of his hair to feel soft strands curl around his fingers, “It was distorted, the numbers falling off the page.”

 

Sutcliffe shrugged, “That doesn’t necessarily mean he has encephalitis.”

 

“It has a certain scent. A sweet heat to the sickness beneath the skin,” he looked down at Adam the sick man keeping his sight on the floor, careful to give as little of himself away as he possibly can. The less witnesses the better, the less clear his face is to memory, the better. Such a cleaver boy. “I can’t know for sure without a scan, but I suspect that is the infection.”

 

Sutcliffe nodded and grabbed his lab coat from the back of his chair, “Then I shouldn’t keep you waiting.” He opened the door and ushered the pair through.

 

Adam wasn’t sure whether he should be impressed by the doctor’s easy ability to maneuver them through the hospital practically unseen or disturbed by the facilities lack of efficient security. It was perverse how effortless the endeavor had become, his earlier worrying for nothing.

 

Within moments Adam was stripped of his jeans and shirt and pulling on a thin blue hospital gown.

 

“This will only take a few minutes,” Hannibal assured him, tying the strings of his hospital dress at the back. “I will be just behind the glass with Dr. Sutcliffe, if you need me I will be able to hear you quite clearly.”

 

Adam looked toward the glass and nodded. Sutcliffe was already standing on it’s other side, watching them. There was a soft realization to his eyes, a sense of recognition he would have been better off without. Sutcliffe had read the paper. He _knew_.

 

Without comment Adam climbed onto the patient table and lay down.

 

On his back, his sight met with Hannibal’s and it could have been a warning or it could have been concern, but they held his gaze and didn’t leave, a signal from the man whose sight was often fleeting. Hannibal combed his fingers through satin curls and stepped away from his lover to join Sutcliffe in the control room.

 

Once the door was closed Sutcliffe began, “You’ll need to hold perfectly still for this Adam. The trey will move you into the machine and you’ll hear a low hum. I’ll let you know when we’re finished.” He spoke into a microphone, projecting his voice into the small room. “Let me know if you feel any discomfort during the scan. I can hear you fine.”

 

He released the button for the intercom and turned on the machine.

 

Hannibal watched as Adam disappeared into the CT scanner, a routine procedure that would be finished in minutes and offer Hannibal confirmation of Adam’s illness. Then he could begin the appropriate course for treatment.

 

“When you asked me to arrange a scan for your cousin…discretely,” he pressed a button and turned to watch the monitoring screen, “I hadn’t thought it was because he was a wanted killer.” He watched Hannibal for his reaction to being ousted. To his disappointment he didn’t get one.

 

Hannibal’s attention remained firmly transfixed on the man who lay still inside the machine. He had known Sutcliffe would recognise him, he’d anticipated it in fact. “I believe you’re mistaken.”

 

Sutcliffe adjusted a control on the monitor and took a second scan, “I most certainly am not.” He argued, “That man is Will Graham, Hannibal. The FBI Special agent out on a killing spree.” He flipped another switch and powered off the machine, “Don’t play ignorant Hannibal, it doesn’t suit you.”

 

His head canted at the accusation, the movement smooth, almost serpentine. “Excuse me?”

 

“You’re lying Hannibal. It’s unbecoming of you.” He pinned the results against a light board, “You know he needs to be reported.” Sutcliffe’s brow furrowed as he examined the prints, amazement taking him at the image presented. “My God you were right.”

 

“Reported?” Hannibal slipped a hand into his coat pocket.

 

“For your own safety Hannibal, as well as everyone else’s. Will Graham is a dangerous, _sick_ , psychopath.” He was still distracted by the results. “I don’t know how you came upon him, but you have to turn him in.”

 

His fingers touched metal, cold and sharp, “Have you told anyone?”

 

Sutcliffe turned to him, a serious expression on his lean face, “Not yet, but I will if you don’t.”

 

He let go of the blade and smiled, mouth pulling at the edges into something very like the old colleague Sutcliffe used to know. “You’re right. Perhaps we should return to your office. I can make the call.”

 

OoOoO

 

“Adam are you ready?”

 

He was dressed again, sitting in his wheel chair with a medical mask over his face and eyes cast to the floor. He looked up when Hannibal approached, “Where did you go?”

 

Hannibal stepped behind the chair, took it’s handles and began to wheel Adam down the long hospital hall toward the nearest exit. “Sutcliffe’s office. I apologize for not taking you with me, but I’m afraid it was important.”

 

Adam nodded, “He recognized me.”

 

When Hannibal smiled again it was nothing like the knife split grin he’d given the former doctor. “He did.”

 

“You kill him”?

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did you frame me?” Adam asked without missing a beat.

 

Hannibal leaned over his chair to press a kiss to the crown of his curly head and slipped the handle of a scalpel into his hand.

 

It was answer enough.

 

“I upset you.” Adam said touching the blade of the medical knife as he was wheeled from the Hospital and out into the parking lot. “You’re punishing me for what I said earlier.”

 

Hannibal opened the Bentley’s door for his lover, let him climb into the seat on his own and then shut it behind him before taking the wheelchair back to the hospital.

 

He wasn’t wrong.

 

“I told you I don’t want to leave you Hannibal.” Adam argued once his lover was seated in the car. “You don’t need to keep building forts around me to keep me from leaving.”

 

He took Adam’s hand, pressed a kiss to his knuckles and started the car. “I need them for _me._ ”

 

It was probably the most honest answer Adam was ever going to get from the cannibal, certainly more than the man was willing to reveal that day. He accepted it and let his hand settle back into his lap, leaving Hannibal to drive the Bentley home.

 

There was a deeper meaning to those words then what lay on the surface, like most things Hannibal said. Adam wondered how long it would be before he discovered what it was. What had happened that he required such complete and utter control over everything within his life?

 

“Did you find what’s wrong with me?” He changed the subject.

 

“You’re suffering from encephalitis, an infection of the brain.” Hannibal explained, “I’ll start you on a cocktail of anti-inflammatories and acyclovir when we get home.”

 

Adam nodded, it sounded more simple than a number of other things it could have been. “And that will cure me?”

 

“It will treat the illness and you will recover.” Hannibal agreed. He had never been keen on the term ‘cure’. It sounded too close to a miracle, the impossible. Medicine was a science.

 

A science he would use to stop Will Graham from coming back.

 

Will’s empathy may have played some part to Adam’s prolonged memory loss, but the encephalitis was most certainly key to the boy’s continued existence. Hannibal would not allow Adam to slip from him so easily. Along with his intravenous treatments Adam would endure a series of light stimulation therapy sessions, a procedure Hannibal would use to continue to suppress the FBI agent from resurfacing within Adam’s subconscious.

 

Though he was sure his angel would protest his mind being handled and molded like putty by Hannibal, he was sure the boy would fold once the alternative was given light. To remain who he is or become who he was.

 

There would be no competition.

 

Adam would yield to anything that would keep his continued existence secured, his sense of self-preservation as strong as Hannibal’s own.

 

If it wasn’t, Adam would never have been born.

 

“Thank you.” He touched Hannibal’s thigh, felt the heat of his toned leg beneath fine wool dress pants and knows it will be some time before he feels that leg against his skin again. Adam doubted that Hannibal is the sort of man to indulge in carnal activities with patients while they were receiving treatment.

 

Hannibal pulled the car into park at their Baltimore home and debated what he should prepare for dinner that night. Soup he supposed. Something that would be comforting to his angel even if he lacked memory of experience that made it so. The movement out the window caught his attention and he looked out the window over Adam’s shoulder to better see their uninvited guest.

 

Adam followed his gaze, looking over his shoulder to find what had caught Hannibal’s eye.

 

It hit him like a fist, stealing the breath from his lungs as he was met with something he shouldn’t have understood and knew better than the cast of a reel.

 

“Winston?”

 

OoOoO

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are giving Winston tummy rubs, your comments are comforting Will.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Your kudos splash in the bathtub, your comments are burning people and roasting marshmallows over their corpses.


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